The moon was still visible, but hard to see behind cotton candy skies. The moon rested just above the lake a mile or so out. Twilight was always gorgeous out here.
My target was one of the only ones who left their window open with this windy weather. But it’d make it easier to sneak in.
God, when did I start calling him my target? I hate this job.
I climbed through the window quietly.
His room was dark, all black and gray except for the curtains, which were white. The curtains were going crazy in the breeze, while everything else sat still. What a dull room.
I sighed and took out my gun; a simple pistol with a suppressor attached. I took a deep breath and silently crept towards his bed.
He looked so peaceful, sleeping. I took another deep breath and crossed the room to the bed. I looked at his sleeping body sadly. This was the last time I’d ever get to see him again. I hate this job.
I climbed on the bed, quickly putting my gun to his head and my hand to his throat before he could react. He woke up and looked at me, shocked. God, this hurts. I hate this job.
He calmed down a little. Is he not afraid to die? Or did he think I was too weak to shoot someone I was so close to? He looked at me and reached his hand out to my face. His voice was raspy, and his throat moved on the inside of my palm. It felt kinda gross, but I didn’t move my hand.
“You-“ He put his hand on my arm softly. It didn’t hurt. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. It just made it harder knowing I had to hurt him. I hate this job.
He moved his hand to my face and caressed my cheek. My ****** expression shifted to a much softer one, but not so much he could tell. It’s hard to tell when I’m happy because of my eyes, which always made me look mad. Evil.
Nightmare eyes, I always thought. He always said I was beautiful no matter what, but I hated them. I didn’t really mind when he called me such feminine things either, until all the guys in my school started calling me girly. Even then, I didn’t say anything to him. I let him call me whatever because it was him.
My mom used to say my eyes always made me look evil. Blonde hair and red eyes. The guys in my school always made fun of me for it. But he never did. 'Guys leave him alone,' he told them, 'he can’t control it, just like you can’t control how small your brain is.'
“Last words. Make em’ count.” I ordered. A tear fell slowly down his cheek and was absorbed by the pillow.
He smiled weakly. I loosened my grip around his neck but didn’t let go. He rested his palm against my cheek.
“You’re beautiful.” He said.