At least that made sense, of everything just spoken, the one thing that makes sense is that if she’s some other version of Lute then his Lute would be asleep in her bed at home. It takes him a moment to think about it, unable to believe that he’s actually considering this but at least it would put all this to bed… At least he hoped so.
“Fine. But if your phone rings in you and if this is a joke….” God he hoped this was a joke. Please for the love of god let this be a joke. GG reaches for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out and pulling up her number to start a call with her.
It rings once. Then again. And once more till-
He stops, looking at the woman in front of him, then eyes pull away to concentrate on his phone.
“What… Uh… What are you doing right now?” His eyes stare at the woman in front of him as he waits for Lute to respond.
“Nuffm… jusss putting the banana bread in the ovn…” As if Lute’s ever made banana bread. She’s clearly mid dream, and barely conscious but she senses there’s something wrong. “You okay?”
He takes a deep breath, this felt like a horror movie. Lute was right in front of him but… Not. “Yea just uh… there’s a Gig tomorrow, right? What… What are you planning on wearing?”
There was a pause, almost like she was hesitant but maybe only dozing.
“Gig? Atom’s gig. Can’t tell GG… he’ll be so mad at me. I’m wear this really hot red dress, it gunna look so good… on stage…”
GG’s heart stops for a moment hearing that, a second goes by where his brain forgot how to breathe and once the second passes he takes a silent deep breath in. “Thanks… That’s all, G-Good night.”
“I…” He looks at Lute on the bed, staring her deep in those faded colored eyes “I love you too…” He doesn’t know how or why this version of her came to him, it seems like she didn’t either, but knowing that tomorrow is the day he causes her death? It breaks something in him.
The phone drops from his hand, hitting the ground hard as he slowly moves closer to her on his knees. A compulsion comes over him, both his hands pressing onto her knees where her fishnet stockings cover then slowly slide up her form as if trying his best to convince himself that this was indeed real, she was really here, she was really dead.
A staggered breath leaves his lips as those hands travel upwards, pressing palms against the very dress she dies in, looking at how the folds move in his hands slightly, how it hugs her and how… bloody that pinpoint in her arm was and just how pale and cold she looked.
“Lute… I…” what do you say to the woman you kill before doing the deed? She knows he will do it, now so does he and it feels like a dooming curse on his shoulders as his hands grip her sides, looking up, wanting to hug her but needing her to see the look of desperation and despair in his eyes as he speaks.
“I kill you tomorrow…. I’m… I’m so sorry…”
