Love lie.

"You know I love you, right?"

"I'm giving you an A+ for effort and a bullet in the head for sheer stupidity."

---

Dying is painful. You don't think it would be, but then again, you've never died before. It's...strange. When the trigger pulls and a bullet goes through your chest, your heart has stopped, blow to pieces by the impact.

Your body goes limp, trembling in my grasp. You are shivering and your mouth is open, eyes wide like you are in pain. I know you're in pain.

I died before, once. Came back too, but there's no way you'll get yourself out of this. You're dead. You're finished.

I smile and settle down on the floor beside you. There's only one thing left.

One minute and thirty-six seconds of consciousness remains in your body, in your brain. You can still hear, taste, feel, experience. For one minute, thirty-six seconds, this world has become hell. Then you'll move on, to some other final rest.

My fingers caress your high cheekbones as your body slips to the floor. "I know you always loved me." Whispered. "But you never really meant it."

You can hear me, even though you can't respond. I have a captive audience for another full minute and a half. You are mine. Your lips are parted and the lower one is flecked with red. Were you breathing blood or did the explosion of your heart set those marks upon your lips?

I can't resist. I lean in. Your mouth is open slightly. My lips tough to yours, just for an instant before I pull away.

Your body twitches. Can't stand my touch, even now, can you? You said you loved me. Even in your dying, final moments you clung to that lie. And yet I know you and I know how closely you always held your facorite falsehoods. You never loved me. You never even tried.

How many summers did we spend together? You don't remember do you? And you think there's something noble about that.

Too many summers to count, or some bullshit like that.

But ask me, and I'll tell you. It's been years. We spent summers together since I was young enough to appreciate flaws and you were old enough to cultivate them.