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Blind with the Beast

I should never had fallen for it-- the smooth voice and the emotion I could hear in it. It almost sounded as if he had a soul. But that couldn't be right. He made me feel the gun.

No man with a heart could do what I later found out he had done. Murder. Over and over. For reasons completely unknown except to him. Oh sure. Psychiatrists can try to guess. Can study over and over his past . But someone like that can't possibly have an ounce of reason in them. He made me feel the gun.

I remember how we used to laugh and the way I could feel and hear his smile in the air even though I could never see it, not even with my fingertips. Our first night together was marvelous. Beautiful. Perfect. We understood each other as separate entities and then we melded into one and understood that too. I never could have guessed what would happen the next day. What it would all lead to. He.... he made me feel the gun.

It was cold. So cold. And smooth. The cold of it almost burned in a way that I could practically feel the light reflecting off of it. The barrel of a gun. I knew it right away. Who wouldn't? There are only so many things a person can feel with that coldness, that metallic burn, and the chill down the spine as the psyche screams knowingly of death death death.

He made me feel the gun.

But I think that maybe, after all, he still loved me.

He made me feel the gun.

I'm still alive.

He made me feel the gun.

And the slick wetness of blood that wasn't mine.

(Based off Red Dragon. Reba McClanexFrancis Dolarhyde)