I dig out the picture of her holding the fish and hand it to her. I smile as sour a smile as I can muster through the shattering sounds of my heart.

“Look, I really don't see the point...” she begins, with that little hint of hurt masked with faux disgust.

“The point is, “ I reach for the gun, “you pretended that you caught that fish, right?”

She nods dully. I set the treasure chest gently on the ground, gleaming, hard, cold, satisfying, glinting gun in my hand. Her eyes narrow, frightened. She is so sure I won't use it on her...

“Well, if I remember: we gave the fish back, didn't we?”

I bend down and retrieve the two bullets.

“Is there a point or can I leave now?”

I slide the bullets into two chambers. My temples are pounding. My eyes lose focus just the slightest amount. I struggle to see more clearly. I spin the cylinder.

“The point is, my dear, that you still have something of mine. I want it back.” I raise the gun to my own head. “Now.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Look if you want to blow your head off, do it after I leave.”

Click. Her head snaps up as a shiver of unbelief runs up her spine.

“You've taken a lot of things from this apartment. One of them needs to stay here.”

I spin the cylinder with force. It makes a pretty cool whirring sound. The gun goes up to my temple again. It bumps against my head ever so slightly and causes me to wince. **** headache.

Maggie braves up and takes a step towards me. I hold up my hand like a traffic cop and yell “Stop!”

Click.

This time I see her shiver in cold fear. Almost gives me a boner. If this headache would just **** stop.

Spin.

“Look, you ****. Say whatever the **** it is you want or I'm heading out that door...”

Click.

“My”

Spin. Click.

“****”

Spin. Click.

“HEART!”

Spin. Click.

“I want my **** heart back!”

Spin. Click.

 

Blackness.