text: (WP) Old Habits Die Hard You’re about to end it all when you are interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. The cold, silken weight of the firearm leaves your mouth, and you set it on the immaculate countertop. “I’m sorry, old friend, but you’ll have to wait for a little longer. It appears I have a guest.” The monster inside the weapon hisses, cackling with cold laughter. *Very well. I’ve waited this long; what’s a few minutes more?* Ignoring the triumph in its voice, you walk to the door, peering into the peephole. All you see is a cloud of bright, kinky curls, the color of a pink blush sunset. You open the door, frowning. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay away, far away!” “I’m worried about you,” Callie replies, pushing past you into the apartment, her dark eyes probing, searching for something, and frustration blooms in your chest, climbing up into your throat, threatening to cut off your next words. “I already told you, Callie, this isn’t your business--” “Bullshit it isn’t, Nolan! You can’t do this. You’re not all bad. We all have monsters inside of us--” “God damn it, Callie, this isn’t some philosophical discussion or a metaphor! *My* monster is something real. I’ve hurt people at its behest. And I can’t do it anymore. I’d rather be dead than to hurt someone else, accidentally or on purpose!” Your voice breaks on the last word, and your eyes sting; the room bows and sways, and you can’t help wishing that you’d bought some nice liquor for the occasion. You don’t understand why Callie is trying to talk you out of this; she barely knows you, in the first place. “I’m done, Callie. I can’t do it anymore.” “Nolan, please--” The spirit inside of the gun finally flows out of the weapon in a gout of sulfur-scented smoke, taking the form of a person with a bright, bloody red smile. *Foolish girl,* it sneers, swelling before her, almost preening in front of her. *This child has belonged to me before he even left his mother’s womb. And you think* you *can save him from his fate?* Its laughter echoes throughout the room, derisive and inescapable. “Nolan can make his own destiny!” Callie cries out, and you shake your head; you never wanted anyone involved in this, least of all a barista you made the mistake of confiding in one rainy day. “Please, Callie, I promise you, it would be better if you just left. And I could end it all. It’s safer for everyone that way.” “I’m not leaving you, Nolan, I already told you that! Please, don’t do this!” She grabs the front of your T-shirt, fingers twisted into the fabric like claws. But you don’t have a choice, regardless of Callie’s friendship. Every bone in your body is screaming with fatigue, desperate for release. You’re so exhausted, so tired of fighting for every ounce of control.