"Wow, are you fucking kidding me? Seriously?" Cloud sighs angrily; murderous intent flashing in his stoic eyes. "Of all people, it's you that goes and does this. I trust you with one little fucking thing…" pinching his brow, he trails off before sighing again. "You know what, I should just kill you. I should put a bullet between your eyes, or stab you repeatedly—maybe both—and just fucking kill you."

He reaches for a gun placed conveniently on the wooden counter.

"Woah! Hey now," I chuckle nervously, "Let's not get hasty here…"

His lips twist into a scowl as he nonchalantly slides a fully-loaded clip into the 9mm with an agonizingly slow pace. I feel the sweat beading on my forehead as he mutters, "You wrote a will for a reason, Hannah."

Shocked to see how serious he is, I manage to choke on my own words. My hopes were he'd be a little more… tame in this circumstance. Gulping, I somehow manage to splutter, "Cloud, come on, man… I've got it under control, I've written pretty much everything already—" Hearing the click of the ammunition locking into place, I continue hastily. "All I have to do is explain to everyone else what's going on!"

There's a pause, and I shut my eyes in terror. Cloud is a no-bullshit kind of guy; it's indefinitely a fact he's going to make good with that threat of his. If anything, he should have just stuck a knife in my trachea the second he saw me—fuck knows I deserve it. I drop in and out of hiatus' like some kind of whack-a-mole on amphetamines. Maybe if he knew all the shit I've been putting up with…

My thoughts meander to an abusive ex, failing grades, senior year slowly going down the shitter—

Excuses, excuses… Cloud probably doesn't care. He would probably just say "Dilly dally shilly shally". At least now that I'm on my A-game, I can finish what I started in peace. I feel myself frowning in confusion. What the hell is he doing anyway? How come I'm still alive?

Sneaking a cautious peek, I'm met with the sight of Cloud polishing the gun in silence. Gaping at him slightly, my body starts to relax at the awkward air; the agonizing squeak of the shiny gun is the only thing that moves me to speak in slight annoyance.

"So are you going to—"

"Listen," he interjects while lazily pointing the gun in my direction, gauging me to resume my previous terrified stance. "Just post the story and I won't kill you."

"But what about everyone else?" I open my eyes again only to be met with a horrifyingly blank stare, feeling a sense of imminent doom hovering over me like a thunderstorm brewing in the horizon. Okay, maybe I should just post the chapter now so I don't regret it while I bleed to death from whatever potential wound that's inflicted on me…

As if sensing my silent agreement, he goes back to polishing the weapon with an easy pace; the infernal clean squeak returning to my ears with a vengeance. "I'll tell everyone else, don't worry about that." Before I can respond, as if reading my mind, he says "Don't even submit this yet. Wait until afterwards."

I feel my face twist into a scowl. That doesn't make a whole lot of sense… announcing the new chapter AFTER it's been published? Would that take away from the surprise or help lead people to it? Would people even want to read it now? Suddenly my quest for redemption seems petty, considering the loads of fans and followers I've let down. They would probably have the same reaction as Cloud and grab for whatever fatality-causing objects they can reach with a revenge fueled hatred. From the corner of my eye, I see the gun glisten in the moonlight, and watch how eagerly Cloud's finger searches for the trigger…

"Okay," I blurt out, "Okay, I'll do it… and if you don't like it you can point whatever bullet-filled, rusty, or sharp object you want at me, and I'll pick up where I actually left off here." Pressing one hand to my heart, and the other over my eye (does Cloud even know what a Pinkie Promise is?), I mutter "I promise."

The tall man pauses in his polishing to eye me carefully. His gaze chills me to the bone, and I feel petrified beneath it—subconsciously making amends with myself just in case he manages to find that trigger.

"Alright." He breaks the silence, and I watch in relief as he places the gun down on the counter with slight chagrin. "Make me proud… or else."

Nodding anxiously, I skitter off to fulfill my promise. As I stalk off toward the night, part of me wonders if I should put my dignity on my will; another part hopes that I don't have to.

At least, not yet…