He loved you. More than his alcoholic dad, than his pricey guns, than his stupid mask. He loved you more than any other part of his life, except one thing. His job.

His work was one of the few motivations he had to get up in the morning and brush his teeth. It gave him enough adrenaline to make his shallow heart beat like mad. To Simon, it was what made him, him.

So when he was threatened with being sacked if he did not commit the ultimate betrayal towards you, it was the harsh, killer of a man inside him that caused him to hesitate. To actually contemplate the choice: you or his work. Your life, or something that was a major building block of his.

It was wrong, on so many levels, to get out of the bed you both shared at night and creep into the garage. To pull open the drawer and locate his pistol, clicking the ammunition into place. Evil, to stalk back into your bedroom and lean over you, the barrel an inch away from your skull, his hand trembling. To watch your soft eyes open and your body tense with realisation, and still consider pulling the trigger. To see your eyes, flooded with tears, chin quivering as you clutched the bedsheets, mouth agape with disbelief, and still think of his profession and duties.

“You don’t understand, {{user}}..”