A Bullet For My Valentine

• Lauren Platschinda, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2020

There’s a lot to think about when you’re laying winded on the damp concrete, time slowly trickling away from you into a sticky crimson puddle. How had he not noticed the poorly hidden gun? How had it been so easy to push his partner out of the way and take the oncoming bullet? How had such a normal morning gone so very wrong?

Waking up to the smell of sizzling bacon and melodic humming leaking into the bedroom, Nicholas padded out to the open plan living area to be greeted with the same sight he had seen for the past six years; Owen, still pyjama clad, cooking breakfast and humming along to whatever pop song was playing softly on the radio, mussed hair framing his face like a golden halo and bright eyes still hazed with sleep. Nicholas let out a low groan dropping himself heavily on the breakfast bar, earning a small smile and fresh black coffee from his best friend.
The two had moved in together a few months before they started at the Police Academy, friends since high school it was simply logical to have two part-time incomes going toward rent rather than struggling individually. Originally the apartment had been a total dump, but they had made it their own. Even now with a bedroom each, they still found themselves falling into bed together after a long day, perhaps simply out of old habit, but those nights made Nicholas feel safe.
Every morning they squeezed into the small bathroom, Owen helping Nicholas pull his hair into something manageable as they brushed their teeth. Pausing at the door Nicholas reached out to straighten Owen’s collar, “one of these days you’re going to fill out that uniform,” he would say. “Well we can’t all have your muscles,” Owen would reply with a huff of laughter.
They would squeeze into what was technically Owen’s car, but with the dog decal on the back, the stash of sour candies, and the mix of his CDs, Nicholas felt it had become his too. It wasn’t worth paying for two lots of gas and insurance, so carpooling was the logical option. Watching Owen mouthing the words to the same song he’s played a million times Nicholas couldn’t find himself wanting it any other way.

Their patrol had started out just like any other, until the screaming, the pounding of feet on concrete, the sound of a cocked gun aimed straight at Owen, the feeling of weightless then the final thud of the ground. A million thoughts ran through Nicholas’ mind as he lay there, centring on his partner’s blurring face, he knew there was nothing else he would rather be looking at. Through blackening vision Nicholas reached up to wipe away the warm tears cascading down Owen’s looming face. The realisation hit like a bullet to the chest and Nicholas felt himself smile, “I think, I love you.” A soft warmth pressed briefly against his lips before the cold finally engulfed him.