My Name Is

Word count: 775

Rating: Possible M for language, minor sexual scene and violence.

Tonight is the night.

And tonight I plan to kill a man...

It's smoky in the bar, nauseatingly so but I guess it fits the atmosphere. Who would have ever thought I'd reach this point.

The jarring notes of an off-key piano filter through the air, sounding despondent and horribly bitter-sweet. Normally something like this would bother me, the piano was my oldest and dearest friend and hearing it abused so...

But it doesn't matter. Tonight, nothing else matters.

The cool, unfamiliar weight of the gun fits so perfectly in my hand, it's a little scary. But it doesn't matter anymore; I've sold my soul to the devil and purchased a one-way ticket to hell. I click open the barrel, double-checking it's full. A .357 Magnum Colt Python, that's what the guy who sold this to me said. It cost a pretty penny but it was the "best-revolver in the world" and I wouldn't demean myself with anything less.

They would be coming soon; my beautiful wife and the man who stole her from me. Click, click. The cylinder is still full, six rounds...five too many.

The bartender shoots me a wary glance but he doesn't say a thing. It's business as usual in this shady establishment.

I take a chug from my glass, choking as the acid burns down my throat. It tastes nothing like the high-class drinks I am used to. She would be so proud.

Click, click.

I should have seen the signs; the tight outfits, the late nights, the smoking, the scent of unknown cologne. It was so damn obvious. How could I have been so stupid? I take another swig of the beer, wincing at the bitter tang.

He was her work colleague, a high-ranking detective and one of the smartest men in Japan. She was a lawyer and they were working on a case together. It didn't help that they were also old college-mates at To-oh University. And I trusted her; I even encouraged her to spend more time with him. And how did she repay me... yeah, she cheated on me.

Click, click.

I signal to the bartender for another drink, it will be a while before they arrive and I have no intention of staying sober. It's pretty ironic; I'm the rich "bastard", the millionaire with stunning good looks, former host at my high school. You'd think I'd be the one with multiple mistresses living the high-life but no, I was faithful, foolishly in love with that poor scholarship student, who was secretly sleeping around behind my back.

That image will be seared into my brain forever. The two of them lovingly entwined on our marriage bed. It was rough and it was raw and I hated it. I refused to think of it as love-making; they were fucking each other, mating like the animals they were.

It was a mistake, she said, they were drunk and had been working late. It was an accident.

The only mistake was having married her in the first place.

Click, click.

The doors open and they sweep in together, both resplendent in white. White, the colour of innocence, the colour of purity...yeah, right.

She clutches her bag nervously, looking anywhere but at me. He sports that cocky grin, strutting in like he owned the place.

Click, click.

"Good evening. How are you?" he asks, putting out a hand, mocking me whist doing so.

Fuck you, I think.

The bartender is nowhere to be seen. I inwardly smirk; he's probably guarding the door. I guess this is it.

It's time.

I flourish the gun, lifting it to point square between his eyes. Watching as the arrogance leaves his eyes, the colour draining from his face. It is empowering.

Bang.

The expression on his face is priceless, cocky turned to shock turned to rage as he sweeps through the register. A cruel smile spreads over my features as I take in her frightened expression.

It is fast, and completely un-glamorous. The shot ricochets against the walls, echoing long after the initial blast. Blood, huge gobs of glistening red blood coating the surfaces.

His body lays on the floor, crumpled with limbs at odd angles—completely at odds with his swagger in life. She crouches beside him, red intermingling with the white of her clothes, looking at me with eyes huge like a deer, tears trailing down in jets. She looks like an avenging angel, mourning the death of her lover.

"Why?" she softly murmurs.

Why, indeed? It doesn't matter anymore. The deed is done.

My name is Tamaki Suoh.

And tonight I killed a man.

A/N: My fifth and last submission for Write the Wrong. The challenge this time was tasteful writing i.e to write a death/sex/rape etc scene but tasefully. To be honest this was quite difficult for me as I usually shy away from writing anything remotely M-rated but it was enjoyable. The idea for this story went through a number of changes and it could be a potential crossover as the he mentioned isn't from OHSHC in my mind. This could also be potentially OOC. A challenge for the readers: can anyone correctly guess who the he and she in this story are? And can anyone figure out the fandom the he is supposed to be from? (A hint might be in an earlier story.) Well enjoy and comments will once again be appreciated. =D x