Not If I Save You First

seven | target practice

Yeah. Me. I'm the best and I'm looking.

"I feel like a bastard of a son for not doing enough to find them," he whispered.

"You're nineteen years old. The professionals aren't going to stop looking for your parents. Ever," I said.

"Are you going to NYU to be a shrink? Because you're really good at it," he whispered.

A small almost genuine sounding laugh came from my lips.

I forced Archer to close his eyes, so that he didn't see where we were going. As soon as we stepped inside, Archer was going to know where we were. The sounds were going to be a dead giveaway.

I decided to take pity on Archer. When the sounds happen, the poor guy might shit a brick. He deserved to have his eyes open for this moment.

My hand wrapped around Archer's wrist. The shrieking sound of a bullet being shot from a gun caused Archer to duck his head in fear. My affirming grip on his wrist wasn't helpful. He used his free hand to unwrap my hand from his wrist, and he tightly held my hand in his, interlocking our fingers together.

"Why are we here?" Archer asked.

"You've been through a lot recently. Sometimes people like to talk about it, but sometimes it feels really good to just unleash your anger and frustration on a target," I explained.

Archer gently smiled. I never noticed this before, but he has a small dimple on the left corner of his mouth. The dimple caused his left eye to squint as he smiled at me. This asymmetrical feature is quite appealing. 

We started walking towards the counter of the shooting range. I didn't notice it at first, but the tug on my arm brought me back to reality. Archer still hasn't let go of my hand.

He held my hand all the way to the counter, and all the way to our small cubicle in order to start our shooting.

"Have you done this before?" He asked, not letting go of my hand. 

I nodded, seeing that he wasn't frightened anymore. His body relaxed as he looked at the fresh target a few meters ahead.

"Have you?" I asked.

"My dad taught me to shoot when I was younger. I haven't done it in years. I've never liked guns," he admitted.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, we could do something else," I whispered.

The ear shrieking sound of another gunshot punctured through Archer's eardrums. The sound doesn't affect me too much anymore, but I pretended to flinch at the sound. Archer's first instinct is to shield me from the noise. He would make some lucky girl a wonderful knight in shining armor, but I don't need that from him. It's my job to keep him safe, not the other way around.

It's my job to save him.

"No. You won fair and square," Archer said. "Let's do this."

We put on the headphones to protect ourselves from the sound of the gunshots.

I've been involved in major shootouts all around the world. Bullets flying towards the target. Smoke evaporating off the piping hot barrel of the gun.

"Show me what you got," I shouted over the headphones, handing him the gun with the safety on.

"You first. Show me the difference between a psychopath and a high functioning sociopath," Archer smiled.

I stood with my feet shoulder width apart. Proper shooting stance. Amateurs. Archer doesn't need to know that I can shoot a simple handgun like this one with one hand, and barely any blow back. Faking the push of my shoulders, helped me to make everything look real.