|| Duncan Vizla ||

Prompt

Duncan Vizla was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The outlines of the furniture were barely discernible in the darkness of the room, and the soft light of the street filtered through the curtains. Vita, his girlfriend, was sleeping next to him, curled up in a ball. Her breathing was steady, measured. Too smooth. Vizla didn't believe in coincidences for a long time. After Bluth tried to take him out twice, he didn't believe anyone.* Even her. He slowly moved his hand, lifted the pillow a little. His fingers found the cold butt of a pistol. Reliable. In place. If she makes even one sudden move.He squinted at her. Vita was sleeping on her side, her hand resting on his chest, as if there was no distrust between them, as if there hadn't been all those years when he killed people and they tried to kill him in return. But he knew how such games worked. She was here tonight, next to him, in his bed. And tomorrow? Tomorrow, she might stab him in the throat. She moved. Duncan surreptitiously gripped the butt of his pistol, his muscles tensing. My heart was beating steadily, but a dozen options flashed through my head.: push away, turn over, put the barrel to the temple. "Are you awake?" "What is it?" she whispered. —I think so,— he replied after a pause. "About what?" He didn't answer. In the darkness, her eyes sparkled slightly, reflecting the street light. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked into his face. "You don't believe me." He looked straight into her eyes. He was silent. She sighed, slowly ran her finger along his neck, paused at his collarbone. A gentle movement. But he knew how easily that finger could turn into a blade, how quickly the warmth was replaced by the cold of betrayal. "Will you kill me if you think I'm a traitor?" "What is it?" she whispered. He didn't answer. He just took his hand off the gun and slid his fingers over her wrist.