Tick.

All was quiet for a while as we stood there. Waiting. Waiting for one of us to make the first move. Neither knowing quite how to do this. We’ve watched the movies, we’ve listened to the music, we know how the actual death takes place, but how to open the door… now that… that we don’t know… I put the key in, perfect fit, perfect soft unlock, perfect creak as the door opened. It’s macabre really, but everything about the day seemed perfect.

There was silence in the house, the sort of silence that resounds with a sharp high-pitched tone. I went first. The cats barely stirred as they recognised my face, my smell, my presence. Memories of the living room suddenly engulfed my mind. Good memories. Happy memories. I felt worse for tainting the house than for what we were about to do.

Down the hall, second door on the right. The door, slightly open, was gently pushed all the way. His bedroom. Another four walls I felt sorry for. I stood in front of his bed, suddenly aware that this was it, and watched him sleep. It was the only time I didn’t resent him. There was no anger anymore. This wasn’t a crime of passion where we couldn’t control ourselves. This was planned, methodical, wanted. I felt the warmth of my love by my side, and could feel his body heat getting stronger as he slowly took my left hand in his.

“Wake up” I said gently yet firm. His eyes opened slowly, until he realised it was me. Sitting up he murmured some words of disbelief. That it was me. That I was there. That he didn’t know who I was with or what I was doing there. Disbelief. Catching sight of the gun in my right hand, he pieced it together. He didn’t understand why, but he knew what was happening.

“I came here to end it. Not end what we had. But to end what you were and what you are”, I trembled as I lowered my right hand, never having thought I would be the one to fire the shot, “but I don’t need to kill you anymore. You’re already dead inside”. A wave of relief washed over his face and along with it, came the flood of arrogance I’d come to loathe. Words, meaningless words, about how well he’s doing, about the new whore he has yet to destroy. About how our relationship killed him once and now he’s born again as a better person. Meaningless words.

“But unfortunately for you, you’re dead to me”, I said softly as I turned and walked out the door. Walking away from the house I knew what was to happen, I knew that my love would be my strength where I had none.

Whilst I sat in the car flicking through the songs and laughing softly to myself at some of the music, the boy I had once loved and the man I cherished stared in silence at each other, ironic because the age roles were reversed. One small burst of air. One bullet. One life escaping into nothingness. Never having met till that moment but knowing completely who the other was, the only one to speak was my love.

“Now you’re dead to me”.

As we drove away in silence I put my hand on his. Linked fingers. Just like it’ll always be. So many things to say, and yet everything was said in the air, and in his touch. He leaned over and kissed my forehead. I smiled and looked up at him. My Matty. Always my Matty. We drove away from pain and sorrow, to the dawn of our One Day. I held hands with my soul mate, with a killer.

And I couldn’t be happier.