❛She felt the coldness of the gun. Amelia was as familiar with pain as if she had been a close relative. Only usually, it was someone else’s. But she would do this, she would stand it, and she would die with a bloody grin on her face. It was all she wanted now. And there was no greater signature of her determination then the gritted teeth, more pink then white now, and her lips drawn back into an unintentional snarl. Say something? She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, it was just wave after wave of agony, and she couldn’t even call it endless for time no longer existed. Last words. Was he expecting her to beg or tell Louie that she loved him? No. “Métetelo … por el culo. Pinche puta.” She might have cried out, it sounded choked in her own ears, speaking in a voice unlike her own. It was a form of madness, her thoughts, when they came to her, were gibbering nonsense, colors and sounds rather then words - black, black and red. ❜
