A Man, A Woman and A Gun

The number of bullets a Colt .45 semi automatic gun can hold: 8-14

The gun that my husband-to-be possessed contained exactly: 0

But, of course, I didn't know this.

With guns, just like my finace, the outside is frightening, but way less than that of what's on the inside.

Now, imagine me, Miss Doesn’t-Run-Even-When-She-Clearly-Sees-The-Gun-In-Man’s-Underpants, sitting on the couch in drip drops of my own piss. I would be whispering a prayer for help if I wasn’t completely void of breath.

Pete has his elbows perched on his knees, cracking his knuckles. He doesn’t say anything for a moment; he’s busy thinking about how I’m going pay him back. His eyes keep shifting up and down my body.

“Please,” I say in a tiny voice, tears dripping from my chin to my collarbones, “don’t hurt me.”

The bastard, he shushes me calmly. He wiggles his pinky finger, and when it finally “pops” he looks up at me grins with the face that I now call “The Idea Face”.

“I’m not gonna to hurt you,” he slides a hand on my thigh and my legs jerks in surprise. “As long as you listen to me, you’ll leave here bullet-free. Got it, babe?”

I nod hurriedly. “Okay, please!” my mouth rushes out. He brings his hand to my face and wipes the tears from my raw meat cheeks with a thumb.

I feel confused. I want to kiss him as much as I want to spit in his face and run.

“But, I am going to use you. I’ve got a plan.”

“W-what plan?” My voice shakes.

“You and your church are looking are trying to get new members, aren’t you? That’s what that last tightass talked about when he knocked on my door last week, anyway,” he grumbled.

“Yes, we are,” I answer.

Pete stands up from the couch and points to himself and smiles, “Well, you’re looking at your new member.”

I f...

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...h that shudders at the end. I feel like I’m on top a tall building; dizzy and scared at of my wits like I’m gonna fall out of myself.

I see a house phone sitting on his nightstand in the reflect; the buttons pulsing green. Particularly, the numbers 9, 1, and 1 being of great interest to me.

I inch closer to the nightstand when he bends over to fix the crease on the the ends of his pants; his gun poking out signing a quiet warning to me.

My hand on top on the nightstand, I move it closer and closer to the phone to the phone, keeping my movement as small as possible. When my fingertips touch the side of the phone I hear “I know you’re smarter than that, Bee.” Pete whispers staring at me in the mirror.

I almost fall off the bed. I quickly put my hand back on my lap, “I-I’m- I was just-”

“It seems that I have to use other means of getting your compliance, babe.”