Quin's Dilemma

Ch. 10 - Undeniably Maddening

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"I may look calm, but I'm
throat-punching you in my head!"

- Dominic
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Chapter 10 - Undeniably Maddening

▪️V I N C E N T▪️

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

The repeated firing of a gun had always been calming to me.

After getting out of bed and changing my sheets, I had a long cold shower. But unfortunately, the icy water did nothing to cool my racing mind and heated body.

In the end, I wound up masturbating to thoughts of Quintin. It had been rough, the way I tugged against my needy flesh, as though wanting to torture myself for what I was doing. For as good as it had felt, I could not help the strong feelings of guilt that flowed through me.

By the time I had entered into the indoor shooting range that was located on the lower basement area of the Calvetti residence, it was a little after 5am.

I was not surprised to see Quintin practicing, although given the events of this morning, I had hoped that he would not be here. Embarrassment and awkwardness almost made me turn around and leave before he saw me.

For the last few weeks, he had been coming down early every day to get a few rounds off before starting his duties. It ended up becoming a sort of ritual for us as we did some target practice together. Logically, I took the opportunity to help him perfect his stance whenever I saw that an improvement could be made.

Especially since he had taken a liking to using the MP7, one of my favourites.

Naturally, I did not hesitate to teach him everything I knew and he was quickly becoming an expert at handling it.

Taking out my own weapon, I looked down at the its lightweight and compact design.

The Heckler & Koch MP7A1 was a beautiful German-made gun and I usually walked around with a pair of them. It had the capability to shoot one bullet at a time or full auto. What I loved most about this gun was its cyclic rate of fire with the ability to shoot around 950 rounds per minute.

There was no mistaking the excitement I got from the recoil of the gun each and every time I pulled the trigger. It had always given me such a rush and I could vividly remember the first time my fingers felt the cold metal between my palms.

I was only seven years old, but even back then, I knew that once I started using such a weapon, it would keep a part of my soul captive and I had been afraid of the excitement I felt.

My father had been a very strict man, his mind touched by madness.

Growing up without a mother, I wanted nothing more than to please my father. But I did not show the signs of being a natural killer, at least not the signs he was hoping to see.

Unlike him, I did not want to kill just for fun, I saw no pleasure in it.

As a result, he claimed that I had shamed him and that I needed to be taught a lesson. Just days after my eighth birthday, he had shipped me off to a boarding school that doubled as a rehabilitation centre for disturbed youth.

Looking back, I often wondered what my father had expected of me, I was merely a child.

I wished that I could show him the man I turned out to be. However, when reuniting with some family in New York eight years later, I found out that my father had died in an arms deal gone wrong seven years before.