To Leave Unforgotten

"Tom," she chimed," Thank you." Before Tom could ask why he deserved this gratitude, she turned over to face away, warping her body into a fetal position, the way she was used to sleeping. As Tom turned out the lights and climbed into the bed, he reflected on the events of the last few days. Something hand changes. Something was different. He felt braver than usual. In the darkness, he reached out for the drawer of the bedside. His hand landed on cold steel. Hmm, he thought, pulling the gun out, trying to examine it in the dark. He laid it on his naked chest and reached out again for his pack. And the lighter. He pulled a cigarette out between his left thumb and index and threw the pack down to the floor. He didn't need it anymore. He lit the cigarette and as he took his first drag, took the grip of the handgun in his right hand and allowed his finger to taste that trigger. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth as he mused to himself, "This is it. This is the last one."