please...

My hands shake as they grip the banister. Then, they slip off the polished wood as my eyes lock onto the man I had been searching for. I subtly wipe my hands on my red dress as I descend from the spiraling staircase. "James," I greet. 

He smiles, extending a hand towards me. I take it. His hand is warm, but dry and calloused. Keep a fair distance away, don't sway too close. Grip lightly, a couple more steps. Good. 

We walk together through the doors, entering the ballroom. The light keys of a piano and maybe a saxophone fill the room, providing a light but elegant atmosphere. 

"James," I say again, though this time in a whisper. He doesn't hear me, and I tap him on the shoulder. His blinding smile makes my heart ache again, and I wish vehemently to be anywhere but here. My hands flutter around as we communicate, and I notice his eyes glazing over, though I know he can still see me. 

Agreeing to separate and meet again in a hour, I give him one last mournful smile and rush away in a flurry of silk. Only an hour, and yet it will be a while. 

No, not a while. Now. I have to go now. How has it already been forty-five minutes? It seemed like a second... 

My heels click as I rush up the stairs, and I throw open the doors to a balcony. The crisp wind cools my cheeks, and I lock the doors shut behind me. There is a bag cleverly hidden in the corner. I know what it's full of, and I don't want to touch it. 

A shock runs through me, and a compulsion demands me to grab the bag and take everything in it out. 

One sniper rifle. One scope. One silencer. Two bullets. One pair of legs to hold the rifle steady. Everything is quickly assembled, with the sniper rifle attached to the legs, the scope and silencer attached to the rifle, and the bullets resting in the chamber of the gun. My knees ache as I lay on the cold marble floor, but they delete the pain and replace it with the urge to shoot. My index finger twitches on the trigger. 

It is almost an hour. Too little time for someone to come find me, to help me, discover me, oh God help me. I need help, please, someone please help me. Tears are streaming down my face, and even they can't stop that from happening. They're probably used to it anyways. 

I can see James stepping out of the mansion, and my eyes suddenly clear. I poke the barrel of the rifle through the slots of the railing. My eyes snap shut, but they force me to open them again. One breath. Two breaths. Do it. DO IT. 

A twitch of my index finger, and James falls to the ground in a silent heap.  

Multiple gasps sound out. The piano cuts off, damper pedal holding the note for a wavering second. Then, silence. I'm holding my breath. They're holding their breath. And James doesn't have a breath left to hold. 

"He's dead!" a woman shrieks, and that shatters the dam. 

Screams, shouting, the pound pound pounding of feet drown my ears. None of it is new, but it still makes my heart palpitate. 

"Hey! You! Lady! Someone got shot! Get out of here!" 

The doors behind me are thrown open, and I whip around. A man in a finely tailored suit stands there, feet bound to the floor. His eyes widen as they see the rifle, hands automatically raising up to his chin. Palms facing out. 

This is why you have the second bullet. Hands twitching, but that's deleted quickly enough. The barrel of the gun is pulled out of the slats and into the man's face in one swift movement. He's pleading now, tears streaming, palms slammed into each other. 

Another twitch of the index finger. 

That was my last bullet. I have to leave now. Heels, clicking. Another banister. Someone passes me along the way. 

I'm sorry, James. This isn't what you deserved. But who deserved me anyways? 

Tears, streaming. Out of my eyes this time. I left the gun back there, but it's okay. They'll take care of it. 

"Hey! You! What were you doing up there?" My head turns to the side. It's a patrolman. 

"I... I..." What do I say, what do I say? 

"There's a gun up here!" 

Heart palpitations. Heavy breathing. Sweating. Clear signs of anxiety. I back away slowly, watching the patrolman. Maybe he'll leave, distracted by the gun I stupidly left. Why didn't they take care of it?

"I'm sorry, sir." My words are back. "What is all the commotion about?" 

"Somebody got shot," the patrolman says slowly, not turning his head away from the stairs I had descended not three minutes ago. "Please, exit the building, miss. We'll take care of it." 

My heart hurts. It is as if someone shot me, too, when he tells me this. 

Of course, I know that I was the one who pulled the trigger. Pulled... the trigger. On him. 

Feet, stumbling. To James. Head, wobbly. His hair is still coiffed into place. Hands, steadying. It hurts to see his eyes open still. Scuffed knees, dropping onto the floor until I'm next to him. 

"I'm sorry." 

Hands cup the sides of his face. Head, bending down until our foreheads are touching. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry." 

Tears, streaming. 

And then I can't breathe. 

One hacking inhale, no air. Can't exhale, nothing to exhale. Chest heaving, but from what? No air, blackness surrounding my vision, throat closing

Her head slumps onto the man's chest. Though her arms are still around the man's head, it is clear that they possess no life. But did they possess any life at all?