Writing Prompt Wednesday #124

Write a story that either starts (or ends) with someone saying, “Please, don’t do it.” https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/drama/write-a-story-699218ed-c11b-4e78-8007-4afbcd989f1d/

    A bead of sweat rolled down my brow, my chest pounding. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. My eyes dart back and forth. The room is empty. There’s clutter. There’s no possible weapons. There’s no way to escape.
    I look at him, finally. His eyes are flickering with flames of rage. His jaw works itself back and forth, back and forth. I try to glare back at him. I try to match the rage, the dignity that he holds in every facet of his being. But it’s a futile effort. I was never as brave as him. I was never as strong. That’s how we wound up here.
    “What are you doing, Nes?” he asks. His voice isn’t disdainful or uptight, just sad.
    “What I have to.”
    “Nes, c’mon. You have another choice.”
    “I don’t,” I sob. My arms shake, my hold wavering. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t make you happy.”
    “All I want is you,” he says with a frown. “You don’t have to give in to them.”
    “Yes I do.”
    “No you don’t!” His foot stomps on the ground. “Just come with me. It’s not too late. I don’t want you to become the thing that they’re trying to turn you into.”
    I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. But he doesn’t understand. He has to understand. “Do you remember that time when we visited my family on Thanksgiving a few years ago? What was it? Five? Right after you got that big promotion.”
    He nods. “I remember.”
    My eyes blaze. “And do you remember what she said?”
    “She was wrong, Nes.”
    “‘You will always be broken, Vanessa,’” I say, ignoring him. “‘You will always hurt people.’”
    “So what, you’re proving her right?”
    “What other choice do I have?”
    “Come with me. Drop the gun. Get out of here.” His voice is so warm, so nice. If I wanted to, I could fool myself into thinking that was in the cards for me. That I really could jump into his arms. That I could be protected. That I could be a good person. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be the person they want you to be.”
    “So I can become the person you want me to be?” I ask, my arms shaking. “How is that fair? When does someone start caring about the person I want to be? At least here I have power. At least I’m not scared all the time.”
    “Don’t try to tell me that you’re not scared right now, Nes. I know you better than that.”
    “You don’t know anything,” I spit.
    He frowns. “C’mon Nes, please. Please don’t do it.”