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lyingmxrin pressed this teeny tiny heart for a starter.

' i don't think that was what he meant. '

#lyingmxrin #( & starter. )#( & 'rosewood.' )

& lyingmxrin liked for a starter.

’ ali doesn't need you right now & she's better off not talking to any of you. including you. sorry, poor hanna. ’

#lyingmxrin #( x. v: maybe nothing; maybe everything )

Looking back on it now, the plan had been pretty stupid. He should've stopped as soon as he thought he could defeat A with a theory. Stopped as soon as Hanna asked him not to go, and stopped as soon as he saw the meet up place. It was a dusty old warehouse, one frequently seen in Mob movies or horror films where someone always dies, left to lay in their own blood and dust as Al Pacino or whatever mob boss was featured walked away in a blaze of glory. Only in this edition, A had fled minutes earlier, and Caleb, was now to be another body count on A's list. Distantly, he was aware of the gun shot. Aware of the way his torso felt engorged by fire, but parted lips passed no sounds. He wanted to cry out. Beg for salvation from a force he didn't believe in, or use the phone he didn't have to call back home. Mae his last moments worth their weight but nothing came. He managed a weak grunt, trying to roll over so his eyes might focus on something rather than stay in a perpertual state of spinning.

He'd been too reckless. Too rash and too confident in his own work that he had charged the mound, with a gun he had little intention of shooting. It took A two bullets to get him down, but regardless of the fight he'd battled, still, he lay there waiting for the sweet release of death. He wouldn't have minded either. Wouldn't have minded closing his eyes and finally, finally letting go of the shit world he'd been born into. Letting go of the people who never wanted him, faces who held nothing but judgement for a foster care child who held no one's interest but the police's. He could finally let it all go, and maybe for once be at peace.

But now he didn't just have himself. He had Hanna. Hanna, who he'd promised he'd come back to, and promised that he'd be alright if he could just let him go. Oh, if she could only see him now. He could basically hear the 'i told you so' that would surely come if by miracle, he survived.

Even through it all he smiled. A weak curl of the lips, no less, but still a smile. He had Hanna. He'd always have Hanna. No number of bullets was going to take that away. Not even in death. So brown hues closed. Using the last of what little strength he had to utter the last of his strength, even with the knowledge it would do no good. At least he tried to keep his promise.

' HELP! '

#lyingmxrin #thIS IS SO SHITTY AND LONG AND SHITTY AND I PROMISE I GET BETTER #BUT *throws this at you with love*