She raised the bottle of scotch to her lips. It had just been opened tonight, but it was already a third empty. A look of disappointment and self-displeasure crossed her face. She hated herself for this, for being weak. Sighing, she put the bottle back down and grabbed her head with her hands.

It was too much pressure. The whole thing was exploding out of proportion. She wanted to do everything she could, but it wasn't enough. She needed help, but no-one was there for her. The stress was overwhelming.

Allison was in the bedroom, where she had been for the last three weeks. No energy to do anything but lie there, day after day. She had to be forced to take eat and drink. The whole event had been devastating to both of them, but more to her. For her it was real, while for the other it was more like a pleasant dream.

Remy took another drink, hating herself for it. They had removed everything out two days after, trying to erase all presence of it within the house, hoping that this would snap Allison out of it. But it hadn't worked, Allison didn't notice anything, she just lay there or wandered blank-faced around the house.

Remy had tried to take the slack. She looked after the house, she cooked meals. She took leave off her job to look after Allison. She tried to make her laugh and tried to bring her out of this. Nothing she did made any difference.

Only half of the bottle remained, she felt like throwing up in disgust at herself. She was naïve in the ways in what was going through the mind of Allison. As much as she wanted to, the feelings were alien.

Remy felt overwhelmed, she couldn't handle the stress. Every night she woke up to Allison crying in her sleep. She hadn't had a good night's sleep since. Her nerves were shot and she jumped at the slightest provocation.

Remy picked up the .357 revolver lying next to the bottle of scotch, contemplating. One chamber was full; one bullet. All it would take, just one bullet. The end to all her problems, the easy way out, the only way out that she could see. She spun the cylinder, trying to make her mind up.

Closing her eyes, she once again spun the cylinder, snapping it shut. She placed it back on the table and took another swig of Scotch. Allison would be better off with someone who could look after her, someone who would be there for her. That was not Remy. Remy would do something stupid. She would just hurt Allison more.

Remy banged her head against the table, mentally yelling at herself for her indecision. She had two options and she had to make a choice. Allison knew that this relationship wouldn't last. She knew that it had a time limit. Maybe that time limit was up. Remy didn't know, she couldn't know. All she could know was that even if Allison snapped out of this, it was more than likely to happen again. It was an inevitable fact of Remy's life.

The gun was looking more and more tempting to Remy. She picked it up again, feeling the cold, heavy metal lying in her hand. It was making a statement, saying "I am the end all." Remy shivered at the thought of the end result. She had dealt with her death, she knew the finality of it. Allison did too, she had dealt with it. She would again.

Remy removed the bullet and placed the muzzle against her temple. The cold metal bit into her skin, showing off its lack of humanity. The gun reminded her of the time before Allison. The drinking, the drugs, the sex with random women, the gun seemed to be the perfect analogy for her. More and more, Remy started thinking that maybe the gun was the answer. She had nothing to look forward to, but a slow death, a death that slowly destroyed her until only a husk was left.

Remy wrote a note, two lines were all. I can't take it anymore. I'm sorry. She sighed, placing it on the table, next to the bottle of scotch. She got up once more and made the slow trek to the bedroom. She stopped at the doorway, looking into the dark room, her eyes making out the shape of Allison under the covers. Remy couldn't tell if she was asleep or not. She went and placed a kiss on her forehead, telling her goodbye in her own way.

She loaded the bullet into the gun, spinning the cylinder several times. She locked it in and sat down. She didn't look to see if the bullet was in the right spot. She didn't care. She figured that chance would make up her indecisive mind for her. The muzzle was flat against her temple, the trigger begging her to pull.

Then she heard it, a yell. Allison, screaming out. Tears ran down Remy's face. Allison was screaming her name. Remy dropped the gun and ran to her side. Allison was still asleep, screaming out. Help me. Oh god, Remy, Please help me. She woke with a start, tears streaming down her face.

Remy bundled Allison into her arms, holding her tight. She whispered sweet nothings and promises into her ears. Allison didn't move, just sat there, wrapped in Remy's arms, taking solace from her. Remy hated herself. This woman needed her. How could Remy even think of abandoning her?

Allison slowly slipped back to sleep, her sobs slowly dying. Remy decided that she needed to clean up. She needed to hide all the evidence of the night. Extracting herself from the death-grip of Allison, she went back to the lounge. The Scotch no longer dragged her in, the gun no longer held any allure. She ripped the note to pieces and threw it out. She put the scotch back into the cupboard, to wait for the day it was truly welcome. The gun still sat on the couch. Remy picked it up. It was still heavy, but now it was heavy as it tried to pull her back down. Remy wouldn't have any of it. She opened the cylinder. The bullet was lined up. Her number would have been called, her ticket punched.

Remy found herself wondering about the luck. The luck of Allison choosing to scream that moment, the one second where everything was about to disappear. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Remy needed to find a way to cope, but drinking and suicide weren't the answer. Remy laughed internally, you never know the path that fate takes.