She stood pointing the gun at him as he made his excuses.
“Ohhhh, please, please! I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry, please! I just, I thought…” he stammered, holding up his hands.
“You thought what? That you could put it right? That your stupid apology would be enough?”
“Please! I’m begging you, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“Please, I’ll do anything, oh please please…”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He quietened down, face red, his body shaking.
“You know what you are?” she asked, taking the cigarette from her mouth, blowing out smoke from her ruby red lips.
He didn’t say anything, just stood there, like the mess he was.
“You know what you are?” she shouted, clicking the cock back on the gun and bringing it level to his eyes.
“I’m a fuck…I’m a fuck-up…I fucked up…I’m so sorry…oh please!” he began begging anew.
“Get down on your knees.” she replied.
“I…, I…” he stuttered.
“Get down on your fucking knees” she commanded, taking one step closer to him, pointing the gun directly at his head as he knelt down one leg at a time, his body racked by silent sobbing.
She pressed the gun up to his head, took another drag from the cigarrette, then walked slowly around so that she stood behind him with the gun pressed to the back of his skull. She leaned forward, her black leather corset creaking as she brought her face next to his, now pressing the gun to his temple. She licked a bead of sweat which ran down his sideburn, then kissed his cheek.
“Now, what did I tell you, huh?”
“I’m sorry, oh please…”
“What did I tell you about bringing me back the wrong brand of orange juice?”