A Little Piece of Heaven in My Solitary Hell

Being in the state I was in, I saw light, so I drove towards it. I didn't think that it could have been another car.

The sound of scrapping metal pierces my ears, and I scream, flying to the passenger's seat, since I neglected to wear a seatbelt.

This impact shocks me out of my euphoria and my head slams into the window, glass breaking and cutting into my ears. I lose consciousness for a few seconds, and when I open my eyes, my vision is slightly red, like there's blood leaking into my eye.

I start to hyperventilate, drawing my knees into my chest and sitting up. I have blood all over me. My blood.

When I kill, I avoid the blood. I shoot from a distance and leave.

I rest my forehead on my knees and shake, my eyes wide and blood leaking onto me.

I hear the crumbled door of my car pull open and shrink back, attempting to scream but only making soft squeaks. What's going on?

"Ma'am, are you okay?" a familiar voice asks.

Laughter escapes my throat. He can't see the blood on my face or hand, they're hidden. The blood should be popping against the white color of my hair.

I look up and say with a giggle, "Do I look okay to you?" The face is slightly familiar, but my vision is blurry. Besides, I know too many redheads.

The man who opened my door looks at me, and I can tell that his face is puzzled.

Laughing again, I feel ecstasy at the pain from the crash. I get into a stance on my hands and knees in the seat and practically stalk towards him like an animal. My face is inches from his and I growl, "You smell like fear."

His eyes get big and I laugh, pulling back and scanning his face in search of who he is.

When I figure it out, I'm frozen. This isn't really him... Someone knows how to affect me, that's all.

I whip my hand underneath of my seat and pull out my pistol.

"Who the fuck do you work for?!" I yell, pointing it at his face, my arms locked out in front of me and my eyes wide.

I'm being vulnerable. I know I must look like I've seen a ghost.

He looks like he's trying to say something.

"I said, who the fuck do you work for?! You obviously know who you're trying to look like! Your employer told you this would hurt me! Who do you work for, you sick little bastard?!"

My voice wavers at the end and I know that I'll cry if I don't shot. I'll cry for the first time in years.

My arms shake and I feel my fingers begin to fumble near the trigger.

I can't do this.

I turn the gun around and hold it to my own head, backing up against the other side of my car, clenching my eyes shut.

"If I shoot, you'll go away. You're not real. You're not really him," I whisper, my finger shaking near the trigger.

This can't be Mason.