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Duality by DelphinieN

Pull the Trigger

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha; all the characters belong to their rightful owner, Rumiko Takahashi. No money or profit is made on this fiction (This disclaimer applies to all chapters after this unless it is stated otherwise and if there are any next chapters).

Notes: Grammar, punctuation and word choice might be wrong because I have done all the editing by myself (and I cannot find all of my mistakes even if I try). By reading this story, you are at your own risk of seeing terrible grammar (you have been warned). On a side note, this story is inspired by the song called "Shoot me" by Day6; it is the reason why this story is here.

I have no intention of continuing this one-shot; at least not any time soon. I still have the other huge project (i.e, Erotes' Touch) to finish, which will probably take forever at my pace of writing and with constant distractions. I just want to post this story because I have been stuck with this idea for so long now. Either way, I hope someone enjoys reading this, even if this story makes no sense.

Read the following notes after you have finished reading the story (spoilers alert): I have purposefully left the male character's name out of the story. The main reason is to add a layer of mystery in here (though it may do no good for me and make the story hard to read); and because I want the readers to insert whichever character they deem to be appropriate for the story. I'm not even sure if I should post this story here; but I'm a SessKag shipper; so… Who knows, maybe I will come back to this story one day, insert a name somewhere in here and ruin everything.

As for the real meaning behind this one-shot, each person may see different meaning from different perspective. I may, or may not, reveal my true intention when writing this short story in the next chapter, or on my profile if there is no next chapter (it also depends on the number of people wanting to know the true meaning). I'd like you, the reader, to tell me what you see from your point of view.

Reviews (even flames) are welcomed and appreciated.

Duality: Pull the Trigger.

Digging his nail into the tip of his index finger, the dull pain reminds him this is the real world. He finds it a bit strange since he never realizes he is in a movie right now. He must be in a thriller movie, judging by the look on her face.

In this dimly-lit room, the moonlight makes its presence known through the clear window. With no curtains obstructing the view, the illuminating crescent lights up the sombre place with a touch of unseen magic. If the two people were to bother glancing outside, they would have discovered the dark sky filled with twinkling stars, as though it comes straight out from an expensive painting. This rare scenery has left a trace of romance in the air for this restless metropolis.

But the atmosphere in this very room is nothing but tranquillity; it is so heavy that he may as well inhale cement straight to his lungs. It feels poisonous even, but he shoves that thought aside since he'd be dead by now if the oxygen was indeed lethal. He keeps reminding himself to breathe, no matter how thick the air seems to be. With each second passes by, he begins to feel light-headed; as his knees start to feel weak, he decides to take a seat down.

The high-pitched screeching noise disrupts the harsh silence between the two sole humans in the area; he does not care one bit if that sudden sound startles the woman seemingly standing in front of him. Carelessly, he throws himself onto the crappy plastic chair; he knows it is uncomfortable but this chair is the only one available in this place. Beggars can't be choosers, he supposes; seconds after, the dense air once again invades the silent room. This time, the atmosphere seems thicker than ever.

Like a puppet, he sits there quietly to catch his breath; there is no sound in this room, not even the noise of him heavily breathing. The woman, whom he cherishes with all of his heart, folds her hands onto her chest as she leans back on the cold wall; she displays no symptom of being fatigue from inhaling this deadly air. He wonders if she is even conscious of these insignificant details; or if she is the one poisoned the air in the first place. Maybe it is the latter option.

He scratches the notion away; there is no way this woman will do it. If she wishes to kill him, she will not perform something as frivolous as releasing dangerous toxins into the air like this. After all, she is the holder of his heart; she can simply crush it in the palms of her hands if she chooses to. Not that this bewitching woman will undertake that action; he knows her way too well. He tells himself to quit being delusional, and the oxygen is not lethal. It is just his imagination, probably.

As he takes a couple of seconds to get his breath back, he stares into the woman standing before him. Her raven hair used to be so straight; but now, some strands clump together and stick onto her neck. She has made no sound so far, but he vows he can pick up the deafening echoes of her heartbeat from this distance. Peering into her eyes, he used to consider that blue colour is the most beautiful shade on this earth. But not anymore; that cerulean hue is so cold, it makes ice feel warm.

Click.

The blue-eyed woman draws out a pistol, with everything loaded and ready to be fired. The polished metal frame almost shines as the radiant moonlight hits its body. He has seen and heard of different guns on the movie screens and real life, but this is the first time he sees one reflecting the light like this. This minor detail manages to make him lose his track of thoughts; for some miracles, he is able to gather his attention towards the current situation again.

But as soon as he looks into those murky cerulean orbs, he cannot form any words at the tip of his tongue; different phrases jumble in his brain and none of them make any sense. In his defence, it is rather hard to express anything when someone points a gun at his head.

How odd, he has always recognized her to be a gentle soul; he'd have never foreseen her aiming this pistol at him. He knows reasonably well that every couple must go through this stage; the two parties will hold their guns against each other once or twice a month, with both parties survive with little to no injuries. Is this the norm in this mad world? It must be as he feels the heavy weight on his right pocket.

Taking a brief second to look at the woman again, he notices something about her has changed. Her pale skin is now glowing, with a hint of red in them; the blue shade in her eyes turns a bit darker, as though a storm is coming. The gun in her hands seems like it weighs a ton, as she struggles to keep it up straight; her hands shake ever so slightly, his eyes almost miss that small detail. Despite what they are going through right now, he still thinks she is the most beautiful woman in this world.

His mind decides to take on a small trip into the past at this very moment. He realizes they may have fought more than once or twice every month; they also may have left some scars onto each other. Trailing down from her pretty face, he notices a long scar extended along her left arm; another one peeks out from under the collar of her shirt. He silently wonders if he is the one who caused these ugly scars to be permanently tattooed on her silky skin. It must be as the weight in his pocket reminds him of all the history between them.

Well, to be fair, she is not the only one who got injured; he too has his fair share in this matter. He traces the outline of a wound located on the base of his neck unconsciously; the bumpy feeling of a scar, which has healed but forever made it presence there, gives a chill straight down his spine. Moving his hand lower, he detects an almost identical scar spreading across his rib cage, right where his heart should be. The wound faintly stings as he thinks of the reason why it is there in the first place. It must be her, the woman pointing a gun at his head who caused this.

A voice so akin to his own says this enticing woman is the one created these disfigurements, and he should despise her for doing this despicable thing to his body. He should scorn her for even attempting to point this pistol at his face, with full intention of creating another injury on his blemished heart. Does this woman not learn a single thing during their relationship? She should realize he can simply pull out his handgun and shoot her before she can even fire her pistol.

He knows this should be the last time they play this foolish game; he should let her kill him and end everything right here. He knows he needs to do so, but he cannot.

As he stares back into her dark blue eyes once more time, memories start flowing through his brain. Every time he gets home after a long day at work, a hearty dinner is always ready on the dining table as she patiently waits for him to come and eat with her. He repeatedly tells her to go ahead and finish her portion before he gets home; but she invariably shows him a small laugh, which is enough to brighten up his day, and states she does not wish him to eat in the dark by himself. He softly smiles at that short recollection.

Or whenever she is sick, she still tries to get up and cook some food; though she will eventually collapse in the middle of the corridor for trying way too hard. He then has to carry her back to their bedroom and scold her like a child; she'll proceed to cry like one as well, before he gives her a kiss on her forehead and tells her everything will be all right. A warm feeling spreads across his heart as he remembers the way she falls asleep right afterwards.

Another memory surges back to life, taking over the existing ones with more lively images; it reveals them staying in this same room. It is pitch-black inside instead; neither luminescence nor any source of light traverses to this cramped place. But, this time, she is the one sitting in this very chair; no, she scrambles to sit up. Black hair mostly covers her pretty face, except for her eyes. This time, the blue eyes show a hefty dose of fear and terror instead.

A sudden force churns his gut upside down, compelling him to search around for any signs of menaces. He wonders if there is a monster standing in front of her. He suddenly feels sick as he looks into the ominous shadow looming over her small frame; as it closer and closer, she suddenly shrieks in horror. He orders his mind to think of something else before he throws up at this feeling of disgust. He tells himself everything is just an awful dream; he would never do anything this terrible to her.

The unpleasant flashback fades away as promptly as it shows up; his soul gradually feels lighter as many other wonderful memories begin to overflow his mind like endless tidal waves. Ignoring the odd memory, he revels in all the times they have shared together. If he has to learn one thing from this, it is that all of these harsh arguments are worth it. After all, when everything is said and done, she will give him a hug and apologize for snapping at him like this; he will regret what he has done to drive her pointing a gun at him. After that, everything will go back to normal.

He should have seen this coming; it has gotten old at this point. Their words will be up against each other; each phrase will become harsher and sharper than the previous one. Then, if words are not enough, they will draw their guns out; just like what she is undertaking at this moment. But it will be over soon since she will learn to forgive for whatever mistakes he has carried out. Yes, that is their routine; but despite everything they have gone through, he is certain his affection for her is still alive and going strong.

Because of that, he chooses not to pull out his handgun; he will not let their wonderful love die so easily. He will never give her up, not in a million years to someone else.

Her hands slightly shake, causing the gun to produce a strange noise; it wakes him up from his daydreaming in the midst of the night. He doubts she has done it on purpose; but either way, he is grateful for her making him concentrate back on reality. Right now, he wishes to skip everything in between and go straight to the ending. He wants to hold her in his arms and says sorry for everything he has done.

But considering the ice layer still shown through her eyes, he can tell it will take a while before he can achieve what he wants. Leaning back against the chair, he may as well get used to sitting on this uncomfortable seat before this argument is over. He notices the way the shimmering moonlight illuminates her eyes; it makes them look normal again, without all the bitter and harsh feelings. He likes it like this, much better than the coldness underneath her eyes.

Her hands shake more than ever before; anxiety is written all over her face by now. He can see these little details without requiring much light. He is ready now; if this is what she wishes, he will take these bullets at any time. If shooting him makes her feel better, then he will be glad to go over where she stands and pull the trigger. She should fire those bullets at him now to get everything over with, he quietly tells her. Shoot him and forgive him already, he silently begs her.

"It's over," her sweet voice pierces through the silent space, making it louder than anything he has ever heard. Those two simple words puncture through his heart; they even make his ears ring constantly. In all honesty, that plain phrase seems to be more powerful than mere bullets as it keeps echoing inside his head. Each word gets lodged in his heart, causing everything to hurt so bad; he can hardly breathe at this point. And with every breath he takes, her words dig further into the old wounds, penetrating through them and reaching to a new depth he has never known.

Holding onto his chest, he fears his heart may cease to work at any time due to this immense pain. As seconds pass by, he feels like as though she just applies alcohol straight to his open wound. The pain stretches towards all of his nerves, causing him to feeltemporarily numb; maybe this is how being submerged in frozen ice feels like. Will this be another scar tattooed on his heart?

It doesn't matter; even if there are millions of wounds like this, he is prepared to take them all. He will do anything to keep her by his side. He wonders if she has ever felt this kind of pain; he is certain the answer is no since he will never have enough power to cause her to be in this anguish stage.

Taking a second to recover his breath, he is positive now that he is in a drama movie, not a thriller one; because this woman possesses no intention to kill him. She just prefers to torture him until he is broken, until he cuts off the string which binds them together. But he is not that weak; he never was and never will be. He is ready to endure anything to preserve their relationship; he is ready to be hurt again and again before she takes back those words. He will stand tall in front of all these challenges and prove to her that he is willing to make their relationship work again.

He is not ready to give up on her yet. No, he loves her too much to ever say the final goodbye; and he promises her that he will prove his affection and devotion for her after this whole situation is over. He begs her for another chance to be a better man, to make amends for all of his mistakes.

He silently prays she does not mean those bitter words; he hopes she merely expresses them due to anxiety. But, if she means each and every word, she may as well finish him off with all the bullets in that pistol right now. He truly cannot imagine a life without her; the reason for his existence is her and her alone. He will be in a living hell, a dark void every single day if she is not his side; and he has no interest in finding out about it. He'd rather die than to live in that land of nightmares.

He does not predict everything to escalate like this; all he ever wants is a bit of romance in his life to lighten up this boring life. But reality often reminds him that everything is often harsher than what everyone expects. As soon as he assumes to have discovered the one, everything has to be so troublesome and very simple to eradicate with a lone bullet. No, he tells himself that a mere bullet will not sever their relationship so easily; he will become a shield if he can to protect the only precious matter in his life.

"Just shoot me, Kagome." He speaks while staring straight into her blue eyes. A tiny bit of hesitation and frighten peeks through the darkened colour of her eyes; maybe she does not mean what she says after all. As she puts her finger on the trigger, his eyes do not move from hers, not even an inch; he trusts her to consider their future together. He believes he can make everything better once this fight is over. He hopes she can see the determination in him at this very moment. He thinks their love will…

Bang.

 

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