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“Glory or nothing,” Richard says. He looks at his gun. He looks at Justin. He’s the kind of person who’s easy and hard to read at the same time. A contradiction unto himself.
Justin swallows. He grips the revolver in his lap. “Glory or nothing.”
“This is it,” Richard says. “Anything left to say or do you better say or do it now, man.”
They need to die. For the same reason that girl they killed needed to die—because everyone dies eventually and no reason is as good a reason as any. Justin believed that when they planned it. He believed it when they made the pact. Now he’s staring down the barrel and all he can seem to think is that it’s a waste for them both to die.
Richard didn’t kill her. Richard ought to live. He could manage it, maybe; he’s a better actor than Justin, a better liar. Nothing tying him to this place. He could run. Disappear. Leave Justin behind.
But Richard loaded the bullets.
“Nothing?” Richard raises an eyebrow. He shuffles closer until their knees touch. “When it comes to Nietzsche you can’t shut the fuck up but I ask for last words and suddenly you’re a goddamn mute?”
Justin steels himself. He shakes his head. “Last words don’t mean anything. No more than anything else. I’ve said all there is to say.”
“Well, I haven’t,” Richard says, and there’s a clatter as his gun hits the floor. Justin tries not to flinch. He fails. Richard grabs his face, and experience has taught Justin not to flinch from that. “I got one or two things left on my bucket list.”
“That’s not how this works. Glory or nothing,” Justin says stiffly.
Richard’s forehead hits his. It hurts a little. He brushes back Justin’s hair with gentle fingers. “We’re already dead.”
“Not so dead that we can’t still go to prison.” Justin bites too hard on the inside of his cheek. The taste of metal hits his tongue. He tries, for the first time, to pull Richard’s hands off him. He can’t. Richard has a vise grip. “Richard—”
The pressure comes first, then the overwhelming taste of cigarette smoke like it’s caked on Richard’s lips. Justin jerks away, aghast. “What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?”
“Of course I’m crazy! We’re both crazy, we killed a girl!” Richard’s fingernails dig into Justin’s neck while his other hand cages in Justin’s face. His thumb sweeps over Justin’s cheekbone too roughly to be any comfort. He's not really this tender, except when he is, and it's Justin’s problem for not being able to tell when it's a lie. If it even is a lie. Richard is a contradiction; maybe it’s real and not real at the same time. “We’re dead anyway, we’re toast, it’s only a matter of time before they find us. You want to die a virgin?”
“Let me go.”
“Or you want to go to jail, like some punk, and be the prison bitch, huh? You want everyone to take a turn?”
Blood rushes in Justin’s ears. “No.”
“No, you don’t. So let’s go out on a high note, whaddaya say?”
“No—” Justin shoves, and Richard’s wild eyes tip backwards. “Stop it, Richard, just stop! I know what you did. You talked, didn’t you? You talked! You’re the reason they’re on our tail, because you caved. Because you were too weak. You were always too weak.”
Richard’s jaw works. “Sure. Right. Too weak to keep my pussy mouth shut, right?”
“You confessed! We’re dead because of you! You killed us!”
Richard grabs a fistful of Justin’s shirt and yanks him like he’s a misbehaving dog, so they’re eye to eye, so he can feel Richard spit the words: “I’m the only person in the goddamn world who cares you’re alive. The only fucking person who sees you and knows all your bullshit and wants you even when you’re a lying piece of shit. Not your mom, not your dad, not Lisa the slut. Who’s here? Who’s here with you at the end of it all?”
Justin stares, and Richard shakes him, shouts, “WHO’S HERE?”
“You are.”
“I am! That’s right! You know why?”
“So you can watch me die?” Justin demands.
Richard slaps him across the face, and then he kisses Justin again, his teeth harsh and exacting where they sink into Justin’s lip, where they clash against Justin’s teeth. He cradles Justin’s face like it’s the entire world and he wants to crush it in his palms. He kisses Justin like it’s the true answer to the question Richard asked.
He can’t pretend he hasn’t thought about it. Maybe it doesn’t matter who betrayed whom. He doesn’t care about dying a virgin, but the thought of being a toy for gangbangers to pass around in prison makes him want to hurl. Death is the only door left. And if they’re already dead, he might as well finish strong. So to speak.
His own gun hits the floor with a dull clatter, and he fills his hands with life instead, while there’s still some left in Richard Haywood’s skin.
When it’s over, Justin looks over at Richard and says, “Happy now?”
“Not happy,” Richard says. “Free. We both are. That’s freedom.”
“Then it’s time.” Justin fumbles blindly until he finds one of their discarded guns. He passes it to Richard and finds the other one for himself. “Ready?”
“Wait wait wait.” Richard scrambles upright, eyes wide. “That— that one’s mine, here.” He swaps their guns and nods once. “Okay. Should we say the words one last time?”
“What do you mean,” Justin says slowly, “that one is yours?”
“It’s mine, I brought it for myself.” Richard clicks the safety off and presses the barrel to his temple. He takes a shuddering breath. Gestures, like Justin is going to do the same. “C’mon, the cops’ll be here any minute. One cannot live fully without embracing…”
Richard talked to the cops. He got himself a deal. He brought a gun just for himself. God, Justin is so— he’s so fucking blind.
He cocks his gun and holds it up to Richard.
Richard jolts. “What are you doing? It’s a suicide pact, you idiot, that means we kill ourselves, not each other.”
“What does it matter as long as we both die?” Justin says levelly. “How about I shoot you, and you shoot me.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“We decide how it works. That’s freedom.”
“Okay, what the fuck is this? Would you quit playing around?”
“Open your chamber,” Justin says. His blood goes cold. “Open it now!”
“Jesus, I guess even getting laid couldn’t fix you,” Richard snaps. He opens the chamber. One bullet loaded, in firing position. “Satisfied?”
Justin stares.
“Fine,” Richard says. It’s imperceptible, but there it is: a tremor in his voice. “Go to prison. I’ll haunt you from Hell, how’s that?”
Justin looks at his gun. He fingers the safety, the smooth exterior of the barrel. He’s supposed to be smart, but he’s dumb. He needs to stop being dumb.
The gun with the bullets is Richard’s. Which means…
“Justin, no, don’t, Justin—”
The chamber falls open, and Justin’s gun is empty.
“You were gonna make me watch you kill yourself?”
Richard has a hunted look. He shoves the barrel against his temple. “Too late.”
“No! You think I’m going to prison for you?”
“I didn’t tell them the truth!” Richard hisses. “Do you think I’m stupid? There’s no future for me, I know that. I’m dead. But they can’t get you on murder as long as you keep your mouth shut. Can you do that for me, Justin? One simple thing?”
Justin is too stunned to speak. This is all wrong. Richard is supposed to be the backstabber. Richard is supposed to be free.
Outside, a car pulls up.
“You didn’t ask for my last words, but here they are,” Richard says. “One cannot live fully without embracing suicide and crime.”
“Wait, just wait—”
“A pact made with relentless fire that requires that—”
Justin lunges, but Richard scrambles backwards. “Stop it. You can’t do this!”
The door slams open. The lady cop speaks. “Richard, don’t.”
“While some live…” Richard’s eyes are fixed on Justin. He’s white as a sheet. His hand is shaking. But his eyes are serious. Not a flicker of doubt in them. “Others die.”
“Don’t,” Justin pleads, but the gunshot is louder.