He's just livin' the vida loca...he just has to kill a man to do it...
I laugh silently at myself for beginning to think like him. The idea isn't far-fetched or anything like that. He is a man that makes easy work of getting under someone's skin and making a hay-day of messing with their mind. He always makes it look easy. Even when I'd first met him, I'd been amazed by his high caliber lip- service. It's a dangerous weapon, that, but oh-so-very effective.
He's turned already-seething hatred from different bands of people into a full-fledged war. He's done it with a simple phone call and his soft-but-directly-to-the-point-I-will-kill-you-and-you-will-like-it voice. He throws shapes. He sets them up, and watches them fall. It's the way he works, and Jesus, does he work well. Heaven knows his looks are all he needs to bring nations to their knees. They were all I needed to bring me to mine.
I attempt to clear the thoughts from my mind with a shake of my head. I can't be thinking of him like that now. He is a bad man. A dangerous man. But, wasn't that what made him beautiful?
He is a beautiful creature. There was no denying that fact. And should anyone even attempt to deny it, I'll shoot them in the face.
I shake my head again. I can't be thinking like that. I'm not on his side this time. I'm not supposed to be defending him. I remember this as a pull my gun up against my chest and move deeper into the room.
He's asleep. His breathing is deep and steady as he nestles himself into the thick blankets on the bed. He's not under them. No, it's much too hot of a Mexican summer for that, but he still lies atop them, just in case. He's bare-chested and I watch the slow rise and fall of his flesh as I creep around the room, trying to decide the best tactic for surprising and killing him. I don't want to do it while he's asleep. He's caused me too much pain for me to let him off that easily.
His hair is cascading down on the white pillow, causing the allusion of a dark liquid pool surrounding his head. That's one of the reasons I loved him, I guess. He was so full of illusions that I never knew what to expect from him next. I was a sucker for mystery back then. I'd been naive and it'd almost cost me my life. I'd come so close to death, and had just barely brushed by it...barely.
These are the thoughts that remind me why I agreed to take this mission; why I'd agreed to kill him. These are the thoughts that push me forward into the room and closer to the bed.
Now I see that not only his chest is naked, but so is the rest of his body. The only thing between my eyes and his flesh is the thin sheet draped loosely over his hips. I can make out every curve and plane of his male form, and my heart jumps into my throat. I suppress a sigh. This mission is going to a lot harder than I thought.
I slide across the wall, pressing my body as hard into the stone as I can. Half of me wants to disappear, but I can't allow myself to crumble here. I'm so close. I can almost hear the beating of his heart; the little black, remorseless organ that it is. For just a split second, I really do want to kill him. The feeling is so small and so fleeting that I wouldn't have noticed it had I not been looking for it. But I had been looking. I had been waiting for it to come and make this just a little bit easier. I had hoped so much for that damn feeling, that I almost cry for the fact that it had only lasted as long as it did. I don't know when I'm going to learn that I can't trust my heart.
Taking one final step, I am right next to the bed. His stupid sunglasses are still in the same spot; balanced delicately on the bridge of his nose. It amazes me that he's had the same pair since he lost his eyes. That had been almost two years ago. I momentarily ponder at how he's managed not to break them when he goes into his fits and destroys things.
That doesn't matter. It did once. Little things like that mattered once upon a time...but not anymore. They can't matter. And they won't matter anymore as soon as I wake him up and pull the trigger.
He shifts and I come back to my senses. The memories and feelings have to stop getting in my way. He will wake up soon and my chance at utter, complete, and total control will be gone. And that just can't happen.
I lean down and let my lips hover by his ear. He still smells the same way he did; like tequila, smoke, and spices. The scent radiates off of him and I inhale it...just a little too loudly.
The base of his palm connects with the underside of my chin I stumble back a few steps. He sits up and has a gun--drawn from only-God-knows-where-- and it's pointed at me. "Funny thing about us people without eyes-" he drawls leisurely, "-you never know when we're asleep and when we're not." He pulls the hammer back, signaling to me that he's absolutely NOT bluffing. "Now, who the hell are you and why are you in my room?"
I sigh. I made a mistake. I underestimated him. I thought less of his skill because of his handicap. I should've known that two years being blind wouldn't leave him with anything less than perfection coming from his lack of sight. He adapts. He adapts quickly. It's what he does. Just another thing on the long list of what he does well. "It doesn't matter who I am," I say. No use in indulging in a long conversation. The sooner I piss him off, the sooner we can fight, and the sooner I can kill him.
I should've kept my mouth shut. I see a furrow in his dark brows and I know he recognizes my voice. That puts a bit of a damper on the plan I am quickly making in my head now that the situation has changed. "Well, I'll be damned." He smirks. "Didn't think you'd ever show up around this place."
"Huh. You remember my voice after you tried to kill me. Interesting," I say. Oh, how my sense of sarcasm as become like his. Another thing I've got to work on after he's dead. He laughs. The gun does not lower. He doesn't un-cock it. Hell, it doesn't even tremble. But still the laugh comes, hearty and full.
"Don't flatter yourself," he says. "You still smell like gunpowder and liquor. It's the smell I couldn't forget." I grind my teeth. Bad habit, I know, but with him, all my habits be damned. He didn't even have to try hard to get under my skin nowadays. "So, tell me. What brings you to my little shit-splat hut in the middle of kill-joy, Mexico?"
I shrug. No need to try and be witty now. "I'm here to kill you." There's a quick quirk of his eyebrows that I wouldn't have caught had I not been studying him so intently. For a brief second, I take the movement as an act of surprise. But I know better than that. He doesn't get surprised. Not since his eyes were taken from him.
"Well. If that's not a reason to come see someone, I just don't know what is," he says. Snide remark, that was. Snide, and so very like him. I can't help but grin a little. He may be an ass, but he's a funny ass. "So, what is it exactly you're planning on doing to little old me?" He rolls his head on his neck and I hear his spine popping underneath his skin and muscle. I used to hate it when he did that. It was gross, and there was time I hated it because I thought it'd feel good if I could do it myself, but I couldn't. I still can't.
"Well," I drag out the word, taking my time. "I had planned on killing you right after I woke you up. Give you a chance to know who did you in." He smiled, and it confuses me. "Was that funny?"
"Sounds like something I would do. I must've been more of a bad influence than I thought. But, go on." I narrow my eyes at him, but of course it doesn't do any good, considering that he can't see me.
"Now I'm just thinking of blowing your brains out right here and ending it." He smirks.
"Wouldn't be the first time you blew me." Oh, I'm seeing red right now. What an ass. But, he did have a point.
"You did your fair share of blowing, if I remember correctly," I growl. He laughs and pulls the sheet away from himself. He's nude to me now, and he's enjoying himself. He never did have an issue with being naked. He was nowhere near being ashamed of any part of his body, no part less than the one he was trying so hard to drag my attention to.
"Well, here's your chance. Blow away." I cock my gun. I'm tired of messing around. I've been a puppet on strings since the day I was almost killed. I've done what I've been told, knowing full and well that most of those things were illegal, not to mention insane. But, without him I'd been lost. I needed the guidance; I needed someone telling me what to do; what move to make and when to make it. I needed someone to command me so I didn't feel lost and useless, like he'd made me feel.
His smirk slowly grows into a full-fledged smile. "You're more stupid than I thought." I open my mouth to snap back, but nothing comes out. What did he mean by that?
"What?" He laughs and stands. My eyes travel down his body, and I allow them to only because I know he cannot see me. Something inside me knows that he knows, even though he has no sight.
"Honestly, what more can be done to me?" Immediately my eyes flick to the numerous scars on his thighs and arms from bullet wounds. He holds his arms out in one swift, dramatic gesture. "I've been shot at, I've been double-crossed, I've been lied to." I narrow my eyes at him.
"You've done the shooting, you've double-crossed, and you've lied." He nods.
"True. I've also had my eyes drilled out. I had my badge revoked by the CIA, and I've been replaced. Honestly, do you think the thought of dying scares me? Because if you do, you're probably the stupidest Mexican I know." I take slight offense to his sarcasm. All Mexicans aren't stupid; we all aren't poor and live in huts with nothing to claim but our names. That's not the way it is.
"Then you'll have no problem while I kill you," I say and step forward. As I make this move, he shakes the gun at me. The barrel bounces in my vision and causes me to stop in my tracks.
"Whoa, there. I may not have an issue with death, but that sure as hell doesn't mean that I'm not going without a fight." He laughs lightly and takes a step in my direction. One small step and he's right in front of me, his scent almost driving me loco. His chin turns up and his smile drops a bit, but doesn't disappear.
The way he's smiling brings up memories that I'd hoped I'd forgotten. It's the same smile that I used to wake up to after he kissed my neck in the early hours of the morning. It's the same smile we'd eat a quick breakfast to. It was the same smile that he wore after we'd make love for hours on end. It was the same smile he wore when I found out he was the one that had ordered to have me killed.
Once again, my thoughts have gotten in my way. I'm standing with the barrel of his gun pressed against my throat. The position is as familiar and comfortable as a well played guitar. I can't count how many times I've been in this position, or how many times I've had someone in it. But, in those times, I'd always thought I had the upper hand. When someone had me in the position, I knew I was going to win. And when I had someone else in it, I knew well that they were going to lose. But now, I'm not sure. This game could go either way.
I grunt as the cold metal presses harder against my flesh. "Oh, you like that, do you?" He asks, his voice almost accusing. "Well, you always liked what I did to you. No surprise there."
I hate this. I hate him throwing our relationship in my face, like it was all some big joke to him. I've often wondered if it was, but overall, I've decided that it wasn't. He was just too open for it to be a joke. And that was why he'd decided to have me killed. "I did," I say simply. He smiles and lays a gentle kiss on my chin.
"I know it," he says. I won't allow myself to believe that he actually means the intimacy. I know he doesn't. I flail my arm and knock his gun from my flesh. He holds on to it, but the movement gives me time to raise my own weapon.
I still my breathing as he turns his head slightly, listening for me. My position hasn't changed, but he doesn't know that. I like watching him like this. He seems so vulnerable. He isn't sure where I am, and he knows I've got a weapon. No wonder he's slightly nervous.
Moving quickly, I knock his weapon from his hands, and grip him roughly by the back of the neck. He whimpers, only softly, but it is sweet music to my ears. My control is finally in its rightful place--in my hands. I lean down to his ear. "You were my world," I say bitterly. He laughs deeply in his throat, so much as it almost sounds like a purr. His cheek is rough and un-shaven against my skin. "Not anymore."
He nuzzles me slightly, and I know he's no longer in fear. It's only slight curiosity that's keeping him from fighting me. I suppose it's also curiosity that's keeping me from shooting him right now. "And yet, you go on living," he says, his voice low. I close my eyes only for a moment. There's still the part of me that wishes I didn't have to do this; that I hadn't accepted this mission.
"No," I murmur, tightening my grip on him. "I have nothing left to live for." There's a loud blast that almost makes me jump. I feel his body spasm against me and the breath rush out of him, hot and heavy against my ear. I can feel the heat from his blood transferring from his body into the fabric of my clothes.
I let my lips brush against his before I push him away and turn around. I don't see where he falls. I don't see exactly where I shot him. I walk away to the sound of his breathing, not knowing if he's going to live or die. All I know is that what I've done has immediately brought me a sweet sense of closure. I'm no longer a puppet. I'm no longer on the strings. I'm just my own person now.
I'm just living la vida loca.