He wanted her to tell him what this horrible secret of hers was; he wanted to beg her to stop. He wanted to tell her she could still back out of this. He moved into her arms, her chin on his right shoulder. He committed to memory the solid weight of her, and the life that ran like a current, before pulling back slightly to give her room to place the gun to her head. He ran. He could stand pain, himself. He just couldn't stand hers. Suddenly he understood, whatever was bothering her was killing her more slowly than the Colt would. In that moment, the night shrinking, it was just the two of them- and there was no alternative. "Please." she whispered and he realized pleasing her was all he ever really wanted to do. He picked up the gun in his left hand, and embraced her, "Is this what you want?" and she nodded. She relaxed in his arms, and that small degree of trust unraveled him." I can't do this to you." he said.
"Then do it for me," She said. "Now."
He heard the words, heard her voice vibrating against his chest, but his hands were shaking and if he pulled the trigger he'd probably shoot himself and was that really so bad?
Now. Now.
He was crying so hard when he looked at her, her face wavered, and he believed he'd already begun to forget her. But then he blinked and she was beautiful and calm and waiting, her mouth parted like it sometimes did when she was asleep. She opened her eyes and he saw only her conviction.
"O, I love you" he said, at least thought he did, but she heard him either way. She brought her right hand and settled it over his, her fingers curving over her own to urge him on. She pressed his hand, and it squeezed on the trigger, and then they were falling holding her in his arms
