Mara turned in her makeshift bed of cushions on the floor and looked up at Trent’s sleeping figure on the bed above her. She could tell by the steady sound of his breathing that he was fast asleep; still she didn’t trust him, not even his breathing. Trent unlike other normal good natured human beings was a seasoned con artist; Mara had seen him feign sudden sickness, to kindness, to death. So she gave him another fifteen minutes before she crawled out from under the itchy quilt.
She tiptoed to the bed and looked down at him to make sure, then she quietly reached for the butt of the gun peeping out from under his pillow. Trent stirred and Mara froze, she had no idea what she would do if those cold eyes opened upon her now, but he didn’t wake up, instead he turned and snuggled his pillow with a sigh. She made her way to the bathroom quietly, gripping the gun tightly in her sweaty hands and pulled the door behind her.
Coming to Trent after her brief altercation with Brad wasn’t something she’d planned out, even now as she stared at her miserable reflection in the cloudy mirror she couldn’t understand why. Brad’s announcement did hurt her, not to mention the fact that she had to find out he was leaving her, had a child and was cheating on her all within the same time frame. She sighed, she’d successfully quelled Trent’s hungry advances for now but she knew that he wouldn’t stop trying to win her over, he was a persistent man and she wasn’t foolish either, she knew that she was part of his revenge package since he broke out of prison.
When she turned up at his door earlier that night he wasn’t pleased at first, not until she’d revealed her emotions, in a sudden fit of rage and humiliation.
Trent had yanked open the door with a look of utter annoyance on his cold face, “what’s all this racket about?” he had hissed.
Mara had then shoved past him into the motel room, and sat heavily on the bed, “I hate the bastard.”
Trent had smirked as he was making his way toward her, clad only in his shorts, his ridiculously thin torso, pale and marked with scars.
“I can see the animosity surging through you, and I have to admit I find it very…” he had lifted her chin with a calloused finger, “attractive.”
Mara only slapped his hand away and turned up her nose in disgust, “don’t even bother Trent. I can’t deal with you and your fantasies right now, I just… I need a place to crash alright.”
Trent had glared at her then, “get off my bed.”
He hadn’t returned to bed without tossing the stiff quilt at her and one of his pillows.
Now she stood at the bathroom sink, gun in hand, hair in a mess, make up less, puffy eyed, with absolutely no clue what was coming next. One thing was certain though, and that was the self pity, guilt, hatred and disappointment she felt as a result of her failed marriage. In a motion of impulse she lifted the cold weapon to her temple and undid the safety, her slim trembling finger resting on the trigger. She bit her lip and sucked in her breath and waited, but nothing happened, it took a moment for her to realize that nothing could happen without her making it. Resigned, she lowered the gun and sighed, it occurred to her that she would probably never develop the guts to kill herself; if she had to die prematurely someone would have to do it for her.
She walked out into the room boldly, using her sudden disregard for her life as a moment of courage. Calmly, she raised the gun towards Trent’s sleeping figure and she regarded him with a devious smirk, her head cocked to one side with an air of authority and self assurance.
“Get up!”
She turned off the safety and snapped it on again, the menacing click sounded awfully amplified in the quiet room, and as she’d suspected Trent shot upright his angry gazed locked on her. Mara’s knee wobbled and her courage wavered momentarily, just long enough for her to remind herself that she didn’t care whether she lived or died right now but would prefer to get something out of it instead of merely dying.
“How does it feel to be on the other side of things,” her voice was chilling, debatably uncertain.
Trent chuckled, but the wary look was still in his eyes, “you’re not gonna shoot me.”
Mara looked at him thoughtfully, “I’m now realizing how pathetic vulnerability is.”
She lowered the gun and Trent’s eyes widened, “Mara?” he warned, his voice hard and threatening.
“Yes Trent,” she responded almost playfully.
“Okay what is it you want?” he said, finally dropping his voice to a calming whisper.
Mara’s grip tightened on the weapon, “I want you to call off the guns,” she said.
“What?”
“You heard me. The plan you had, the men you called… to kill my husband. I want you to pick up the phone and call them off.”
Trent hesitated, “but you hate him…”
“Now!”
She reached over on the dresser and picked up the silencer he’d tossed there that evening and screwed it on skillfully.
“In my spare time I always go down to the shooting range, and given my lack of profession I’ve had a lot of spare time.”
Trent smiled despite himself, “you are so devastatingly hot right now woman,” he said with a flirty smile.
“So would this gun if you don’t pick up that phone.”
Trent reached for the phone slowly, “he’s not gonna take you back you know.”
“Don’t really care. Dial the number.”
Trent’s movements were slow and exaggerated, and very annoying to the fidgeting woman looking at him.
He picked up the phone and started to punch in the number; then he glanced up at her and grinned mischievously.
“You know, it’s very easy to tell when you’re distracted,” he said.
Mara frowned, “What?”
“Like now…” he swiftly picked up the phone and hurled it at her.
Mara gasped, her eyes wide just before it connected with her forehead. She staggered backward, her head reeling and Trent was on her in what felt like a millisecond. He yanked the gun from her hand and shoved her to the floor.
Mara looked up at him in terror, her hand pressed to her forehead, her face contorting in pain, blinking against the tears and dancing twinkles in her vision. Trent smiled deviously.
“Your eyes always give you away,” he rasped and with one whack with the gun butt, she passed on into oblivion.