Chapter Text
I have a loaded gun in my pocket.
In my other pocket, I have a Polaroid camera. I walk behind Tyler, that deceiving, manipulating, scheming piece of shit Tyler. He leads me into an old house. I have no idea if I’ve been here before. I don’t recognise it, but that tells me nothing. Of course I don’t recognise it.
Tyler is talking. I don’t know what he’s saying. My heart pounding in my ears is drowning out all noise; the adrenaline coursing through my veins makes me jumpy. I can’t pay attention even if I want to. I don’t. I don’t care what he’s talking about. I don’t care what he has to say. I would be content never to have a word with the traitorous bastard again. Thankfully, in a few moments, I won’t have to.
I have a loaded gun in my hand. My fist is clenched around the cold metal. He looks back at me, says something. I mumble out a nothing of a reply. He goes back to walking.
I have a loaded gun in the open air. I’m pointing it at the back of Tyler’s head. He’s still turned around, so he doesn’t see it. I take a deep breath. I squeeze my eyes shut. I pull the trigger.
I am Jack’s smirking revenge.
The floor is painted with his blood. So are my shoes and so is my shirt. There’s a change of clothes in the car, so it’s fine. He’s looking up at me. He’s still alive, even with the bullet to his brain. He asks me what the hell has gotten into me. He begs for forgiveness. He asks me to call an ambulance. I tell him I’m not the one he should be saying sorry to. Within five minutes, he’s dead. I put the gun back in my pocket, and then I take out the camera. I take a photograph. This way, I can’t forget.
The photograph is blank. I shake it to make it develop faster. I can see it developing some now. I can make out the dirty floor of the house and the broken windows, but no Tyler. I furrow my brow. I shake it some more. The scenery develops further, but still no Tyler. I’m beginning to feel lightheaded.
I am Jack’s blurred confusion.