Bullets Finale:

Craig's house is far nicer than Kenny's, even if the Tucker family is far from rich themselves. The lawn is neatly mown, almost country golf-house in style even, and there's not a scrap of rubbish to be seen. Meanwhile, inside of the house, lights glow warmly behind frosted windows and I'm certain I can hear the sound of welcoming laughter. With such pleasantness, why then am I so damn nervous? I'm shaking, trembling, wrapping my arms around myself in a vain attempt to hold my body still. I need a coffee, black caffeine to sate my nerves, but there's none to be had. Instead, with my heart racing as though it could erupt from my chest at any given minute, all I can do is slowly and cautiously approach the front door. This too, like everything else, is an improvement over Kenny's home. It sits neatly, properly as it should, within the confines of its frame. I'm positive that it's unlocked too, but given recent events I think I've lost the privilege to just enter unannounced, and so I knock. There's no answer. I knock again; still, there's no answer.

The doorknob spins with a click as I try it, indicating that it was indeed unlocked. However, as I open the door, I'm greeted not by the aromatic smell of Mrs Tucker's cooking but instead the pungent odour of alcohol. The place smells like a brewery; it's sickening. I step inside, examining some dubious stains on the floor, which are either alcohol themselves or the resulting vomit from it - neither good.

"Craig? Are y-you there?"

My body is almost convulsing now, as if I were having some photosensitive seizure, but I'm not. My stomach is cramping too, but I have to stay strong; something is clearly going on and Craig could be in danger.

With a large gulp of air, which doesn't help my nerves as much as I had hoped, I climb the first step of the staircase. Squeak! Then, gulping, the next step after that. Squeak! If Craig is here, surely he must have heard me by now? What if I've frightened him? What if he bursts from around the corner, thinking me a burglar and pushing me down the stairs, causing my head to crack and a pool of crimson red blood to smear itself everywhere? Oh fuck!

I arrive at Craig's door. There's definitely someone inside. I can hear breathing, heavy breathing, like you'd hear after sports class back at school. I open it.

"Craig!?"

It can't be; it simply can't be possible. My eyes must be broken. Perhaps the fumes from the alcohol had gotten to them, tricked them somehow, or maybe it was the stress. Either way, this can't be real! No!

David, with his milk chocolate skin and muscular torso, is sprawled across the bed in naught but socks. He's covered in all the proof I would need, but then I catch sight of Craig, still ignorant to my presence. They both reek of alcohol, but my boyfriend - no, David's boyfriend now - looks... pleased.

I need to get out. The air is stifling me, constricting my airways, and I can feel my chest tightening in response. I cough, then gag, clambering meekly at the empty space around me for air. Stumbling backwards, I make my way for the front doors. Squeak! Squeak! The stairs clunk underfoot, then the door opens with a thud, and I don't look back. I just run.

I run. The air buffets at my bare face, swooshing my hair in all directions, but none of that matters right now. I just need to be free, free from all this pressure and this worry. The world - no, just my world - is a mess. I cheated on Craig, my Craig, and now karma has seen fit to punish me. Gah! Why the fuck was I such an idiot?

There's a bridge nearby, quiet and remote - alluring even. It's high. A river swirls past underneath, likely filled with rocks, carved sharp like a knife by the torrent of water. It's perfect.

Darkness... no witnesses... edge of the bridge... just one step... then I'm free-falling... water everywhere... lungs bursting... a pain in my head... nothingness...