“You can’t tell my mother,” he said. “With all of the things you’ve done in your life, this is what you want to hide from your mother?” She asked.
“I don’t want to deal with the shit if she finds out. Things are just starting to—“
“You kill people for a living. The last guy you hit was a father of three.”
“It’s different. Those are macro level things. That stuff doesn’t affect my day-to-day operation.”
“It sure as hell affected his day-to-day operation.”
“You’re a whore,” he said.
“So tell your mom that.”
“I’m not going to try and explain the inner workings of my mothers brain for you. Neither of us are angels, we know that, she knows that. But this is something she can wrap her brain around and its something she would jump on to make my life hell.”
“You. Kill. People…for a living.”
He groaned and pressed his palms against his head to keep it from exploding.
“It’s the little things that make people go crazy in life. Nobody can really comprehend that hitmen exist in real life. Nobody’s ever met one that they know of, and it’s an easy thing to blow off as exaggerated if you actually tell someone the truth.”
“But living with a women—“
“Her religion is very important to her, and so is the opinion her church friends have of me.”
“They don’t mind that you’re a killer, just that you don’t live with me?”
“They don’t know that I’m a killer. And even if they did, they wouldn’t let themselves believe it.”
“This is bullshit,” she said.
“I’m not saying it isn’t. Why can’t you do this for me?”
“Alright, I’ll make it easy for you. Marry me.”
“Tonight. We’re in Vegas, I can grab a couple cocktail waitresses for bridesmaids.”
“You don’t want to get married.”
“I don’t want to hide our relationship from your mother.”
“You hide your profession from my mother. And does your mom know what I do for a living?”
“My mom is too doped up to know what she does for a living. But this is about us.”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he said. “And I don’t want to get married. I’ve got work to do.”
“If you aren’t going to tell her, then I will.”
“I want to be close to someone’s mother and it’s not going to be my own.”
“You’re being a bitch.”
“You’re being an asshole.”
He was sick of arguing, so he went to the bathroom, grabbed the pistol from behind the toilet, and shot her twice in the mouth and once in the heart.
“You just don’t get it,” he said.
Bryon Quertermous set this site up with very selfish ambitions. Read the rest of his narcissistic ramblings at http://bryonquertermous.blogspot.com