A Novel I'll (Probably) Never Write #4

In a moment he was on top of me with my discarded gun pointed to my head. His eyes were full of tears and betrayal and a thousand other things that were all my fault. My own eyes started to sting and my chest felt tight. I couldn’t tell if it was because of his weight on top of me or knowing how much I had hurt him. It was like breathing underwater.
We stared at each other for what felt like hours. The gun shook under his hand while his other pinned me to the ground. His grip was weak and I knew I could easily have him in the same position but I didn’t want to. I wanted him to do this and it made me even more selfish.
“I don’t think I can do it.” He whispered, gripping the gun so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I hate you so much but I can’t kill you. Not you. Never you.”
“Do it.” I cried, tears slipping down my face. I sucked in breath after breath but it was never enough. “Kill me. Shoot me in the head. Just please get me out of here. I can’t deal with myself anymore.” I sobbed the last part, my voice hysterical but I didn’t care. I didn’t deserve to go out with dignity.
“How could you do this to me?” He asked, his voice barely more than a gasp. “I thought you were… I was wrong. You’re a murderer and a liar and you broke my heart.” He sucked in a breath. “And I hate myself for having loved you so much.”
“Shut up.” I wanted to yell and scream but my throat was burning. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me you loved me, I don’t deserve to be loved. Not by you. I’m a monster.”
“But I did and I do and I wish this wasn’t so hard.” Tears spilled down his face and his hair was a mess, sweeping over his forehead yet he still managed to look beautiful.
“I love you too.” I could barely get the words out but I did and the look on his face was like a stab in the heart.
“Hope.” He muttered my name with a choked sob, leaning forward so that our foreheads were touching. I wanted to stiffen or move away or do something to stop him, but I couldn’t. He said my name over and over again as if making up for all the times he had used my fake one.
“Please.” I breathed, pushing him up gently. I took my hand and placed it over the gun he was holding. His hand was hot underneath mine but it didn’t move as I tightened my grip and put my finger over the trigger.
“I can’t.” I didn’t think I could either no matter how much I wanted to.
“I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry, I love you.” I mumbled the words over and over again as I closed my eyes and took deep breaths and got ready to squeeze the trigger. Moments before I was about to do it a voice called out beyond the pounding in my head.
“Drop your weapons. Put your hands up.” Bennett stormed in with too many agents to count. I didn’t open my eyes as the gun fell from my hand and the weight of him was lifted off of me. I didn’t open my eyes as handcuffs were locked around my wrists and another gun was pointed to my head. I didn’t even open my eyes when I was dragged to my feet and marched forward.
Because even if that trigger wasn’t pulled I was dead already. What was the point of being alive after all I’ve done?