Beautiful Deception

T H I R T E E N

word count: 3, 269
pages (paging mode): 21
warnings: descriptive to the point of being graphic (only in the beginning though); intense guilt- please read the italicized note at the end- but nothing that should be a trigger point. i added a sweet scene to balance at the end to balance some of the heavy themes.
**

11:03 PM
location: NCT underground.
mae

I stumbled my way into the bathroom, fighting back tears as I dropped the gun with a clang onto the tiles and went straight to the sink.
I bit my bottom lip hard, shakily lathering uneccessary amounts of soap onto my hands and turning the hot water on.

I couldn't wash my hands fast enough, the sight of the blood-tainted water going down the drain doing nothing, absolutely nothing, to ease the tightness in my chest.

I wanted to look away, but my eyes were seemingly glued to the last traces of blood leaving my hands, and the weight of everything I'd done slowly crept up onto my shoulders, pushing me down, down, down as I struggled to come to terms with it all; I didn't even think to turn the tap off.

A flash of red-hot guilt shot through me, and my slippery grip on the counter was no match for the pain that brought me to my knees on the bathroom floor, wet hands pressed against my head as I succumbed to the images dancing behind my eyelids.

I had just killed someone.
Scratch that, I had aimed and fired at not only one man, but two.
I had murdered two men on sight; I had taken away two fathers of young children, two loving husbands, two lives that could never be restored- all with two measly clicks of my trigger.

Murderer.

I sobbed harder, the force with which the word bounced around inside my skull making my heart pound painfully in my chest.
I was nothing but a murderer.

"I'm so sorry" I whispered into my palms, as if an apology would accomplish anything. I would never forget the looks of agony on their faces, or the way that they went limp and collapsed at the bullets I had fired.
All of my senses were so unstable that they failed to alert me to another presence in the small bathroom, the footsteps on the linoleum falling muted onto my deaf ears.

"Mae."
Mark called quietly, but I was too far gone to respond. Instead, my chest heaved with another pathetic sob as he slowly approached where I sat crumpled on the tiles. He bent down inches away front of me, and through my tears I couldn't miss the incredibly deep concern that was etched onto his face.

"Mae," Mark whispered softly, "I'm so sorry." He kissed my forehead. I gathered enough strength to sniffle and say, "It's not your fault, it's mine. I'm the murderer." And then I had the decency to break down all over again.

Mark continued his attempts in vain to calm me down, shifting our positions so that his back was against the wall and I was being cradled in his lap. His arms were like a protective vice around me, but even the feelings of safety that he normally gave me couldn't get through the guilt barrier. I felt nothing but pain, guilt, and a strange emptiness, the most mind-numbing hollowness in my gut that kept me from any form of relief.
I barely managed another sentence.

"Leave me alone."

Mark's scoff came immediately, "Like hell I am."
I sighed forlornly.

"I'm not leaving you here like this. You're sleeping with me tonight, and that's final." He stated.
I was far too weak to argue, and far too tired to protest when he tucked is arms under me and lifted me up, carrying me bridal-style in the direction of his room as if I weighed little more than a feather.