Imaginative

NOT A PR0MPT

“You think this scares me?” Villain tutted. He reached up with an arm, tapping the metal which was pressed against his forehead. It was unsurprisingly warm against his fingertips.

Hero almost batted his hand away with the gun, but thinking ahead, she knew it was what he would want- for her to focus on anything other than keeping the gun against his head. “Why wouldn’t it? You’re at my mercy.”

This made the corners of Villain’s lips lift before splitting and revealing a glistening pair of teeth- all the while, he dropped his arm. For the barest moment, Hero thought they were fangs, and in any moment, claws would appear at her throat. She faltered with the gun, but ultimately pushed it harder against Villain’s skin.

He laughed- of course, he did. “See there? Something made you hesitate.”

“It wasn’t hesitation,” Hero spat. It was thought.

“So it was. You get carried away in that little head of yours too easily. I wonder...” He lifted a hand once again, this time not reaching for the gun, but Hero’s cheek instead. Soft, he almost remarked.

“Stop reading my mind.” She twitched, breath hitching. Sweat was beading up in the palm of her hand, making the gun in her hand slippery. Her grip, regardless, remained tight, until-

“If I just make a gun with my hand”- and Villain did, pressing his middle finger, alongside his pointer, against Hero’s temple- “you’ll quake.”

And she did. Her twitches became more frequent, her breaths faster, panicked. Hero was forgetting how to salivate, how to keep her mouth from drying out, becoming the driest desert on Earth.

“Imaginative,” Villain purred, eyes thinning in amusement. “It’s as if I’m the one with the gun.”

“Do-don’t touch me.”

“You’re the one with the real gun,” Villain said- no, whispered. Whispered in that devious tone of his, the one which could have churned the world- “so stop me.”

I can’t. Not while the gun in her hands was shaking. Shaking even as she was holding it with two hands- when did that happen? She was afraid, it was obvious, but when did the fear strike? Why did it strike? One moment, Hero was the one with the gun, and in the next, she was cowering before something as simple as a hand.

“Your skin,” Hero said after a swallow, “it’s cold.” Villain was always cold, with not enough blood leaving his brain to keep him warm. He needed that blood to read minds, to drive Hero mad.

“I don’t reckon that’s why you want me to remove my hand.” He moved it, then, but not away. Rather, Villain unfolded the rest of his fingers, dropping his hand just enough that he could cup Hero’s chin and cheek, running his thumb over her cheekbone. “I think it’s because you’re reminiscing what you used to feel at my touch.”

Hero hadn’t realized it before, but in this moment, she horrendously thought, He’s right. That touch used to mean different than it did now. It didn’t used to be threatening, or demeaning, or whatever this was. It certainly didn’t used to be as cold as it was now. “You changed,” Hero croaked. Anyone would have known she was about to burst out in tears. “You loved me.”

Villain’s fingers jumped against Hero’s skin, riling a high whine from her. “Not anymore.” He mimicked the sound of the very gun pressed against his head whilst jolting his hand against his former lover’s cheek. Hero screamed, jumping with a stupid fright, only to open her eyes and watch Villain begin walking away, his back facing her gun.

She could…so easily, she could shoot him. Just pull the trigger. But she couldn’t. For another day, Villain would walk the streets. For another day, Hero would wish he was still hers to love, and she his.