One. Fucking. Shot.
And he was gone. There was no suffering, or crying involved. There was a shot, and he was on the floor, and he was gone.
It didn't even resonate with me until he was gone physically, and then I really knew. What had I done? My wrists would make soft clanking noises if I moved them even slightly, which by the way wasn't so easy to do with my hands behind my back. Every once in a while, I would look around and not remember how I got there, or how long ago I had arrived, or what I was doing there. All I knew was that I was in trouble.
Why did I do it? What was I thinking?
I don't know.
I killed my best friend. I shot him in the face and killed him, and I didn't even realize I had done anything wrong until he was bleeding on his bedroom floor, already dead.
The few seconds after I pulled the trigger felt like limbo. I thought I was in some kind of dream world, and then I fell back to reality, hard. The gun felt like a dead weight in my hands, so I dropped it. I don't even think I bothered to try and save him. I must have known he was a goner. I do remember the call though.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"I….I just killed my best friend."
"You killed your best friend?"
"Yes, that's what I did. I shot him and now I'm in trouble."
"Ma'am, where are you?"
"In his apartment."
"What's your best friend's name, ma'am?"
"…Mal. Mal Fallon."
I don't remember why I did it. When I think about Mal, I can't imagine him doing anything so horrible that I'd want to kill him, but I'm insane. There's no way any sane person would murder their best friend, partner, and possible soul mate. For any reason at all.
But I did.
Now I'm sitting here in the interrogation room, surrounded by mirrors which I know are 1 way, clinking my handcuffs together every few seconds. I used to be on the other side of that table, but things have changed.
They changed when I pulled that trigger and they'll never be the same.
It only takes one shot for your world to come crashing down.