Flash time!

Beep. Beep. Beep. That’s my warning sound for you. *chuckles* I’m sorry to say I ended this flash with a definite cliffhanger. If you hate those, I’m sorry, and don’t read on. If you like them, yay! I couldn’t help it this week. I had a few people tell me to write a certain scene and I’m just not sure what way I wanted it to end, so this is what I came up with. lol. I hope you enjoy it! If you really want it to go a certain way, let me know!

Prompt: I can’t

“I can’t.” A sob tore from her lips. “I can’t be with you anymore, Abe.”

“Jemma…” He paused. What could he say? Nothing. He could see it written all over her face. Nothing he said would sway her or change her mind in the slightest. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

Her eyes grew wide, round as saucers. Clearly, he surprised her. “My father…he knows. It’s…it’s for the best.”

“I said fine.”


“Maybe you should go.”

“Go?” The tears ran down her face, silently, yet heavily. Her pain had undoubtedly become worse by his words. “Right. I’ll just go, then. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, afraid if he said anything else, nothing but pleading would come out. He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want her walking out the door. He didn’t want to lose her from his life. But if there was one thing he knew, Jemma never disobeyed her father. Never. Why would she suddenly go against her father for him? Simple. She wouldn’t. Obviously, since she just broke up with him. He wasn’t going to fight with her. His last memories of her wouldn’t be ones of fighting.

“I lo—”

“Bye, Jemma.”

She wiped her cheeks, clearing her tears away, and left. He couldn’t hear the words I love you from her. His resolve would crumble then. He was barely hanging on as it was.

The moment he heard the back door close, still leaving out the damn back door, he swung his fist into the wall. The drywall caved instantly, creating a hole that would remind him daily the loss he just suffered. Because he wasn’t going to fix that hole, or any other holes he might create next to it. How could he fix that simple hole when the hole in his heart would never be fixed?

He wanted to cry for the first time in his life. Since he was a little boy, he couldn’t remember when he ever cried. Crying now seemed like a great idea. Not that it would change anything. He still lost Jemma. So easily, too. Her father says a few words and she listens like a dog on a leash.

What did that tell him?

She was scared of her father.

What could he do about that? What should he do about that?

Nothing. Because if she really loved him, she would’ve fought harder. If not in front of her father, at least in front of him.

He pulled his arm back to throw another punch when a slight noise behind him had him grabbing for his gun strapped to his belt instead. He whipped around, gun level, staring straight into the eyes of the man who ruined his life.

“Detective Carson. You should only point that gun if you’re prepared to use it.”

Abe wasn’t affected by the dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’m prepared. You just broke into my home. I’d say you’re an intruder.”

“Are you going to shoot me?”

Abe barely looked away as he glanced at the two goons standing next to Jemma’s father, Mario Bocci, the man the city feared. With two guns pointed at his chest, he could honestly say he felt no fear. Why should he be afraid of dying when Jemma didn’t want him anymore?

“I think a better question is are you going to shoot me?”

Mario laughed. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“How about we just quit asking each other dumb questions and get on with it.”

The deadly glint in his eyes intensified. “You shouldn’t speak to me that way.”

“I’m prepared to die. Are you, Mr. Bocci?”

The man had the audacity to laugh again, as if he didn’t have a gun pointed at him. He was delusional if he assumed Abe wouldn’t shoot. Once the bullets started flying, he’d be adding to the mayhem. If he was going to die, he’d take the bastard with him.

“You have balls. I’ll give you that.” Mario produced a gun of his own, gesturing to his two goons to lower their weapons. “I’ll play your little game, Detective.”

Abe started to speak when a soft, melodious voice spoke behind him. “I can’t believe you.”

Both him and Mario turned towards Jemma. The gun in her hand had his heart beating like a racehorse for the first time since Mario arrived.

“Jemma. Leave.”

The words were said with simple authority. Words spoken with a slice of venom, where one wouldn’t dare to disobey.

“How about you leave, daddy.” She took a few steps, not far from him now. He wanted to pull her into his arms and keep her from any harm. What was she doing back here?

Abe trained his eyes back to Mario, who, for the first time tonight, looked livid.

“Don’t act like a child, Jemma. We both know what happens when you act like one.”

“I was hoping you weren’t lying to me, daddy, but apparently you were.” She took another step, standing right next to him. “I won’t let you hurt Abe.”

He wanted so badly to look at her, pull her into his arms, kiss the daylights out of her, tell her he loved her so damn much. He didn’t understand what was going on. Why she left. Why she suddenly came back. Frankly, he didn’t care. She was standing next to him, defending him. He leveled his gun again, as did Jemma. “Shall I repeat my question again, Mr. Bocci?”

“I think you should ask my daughter that question.”

Abe’s entire body went taut with tension. “A few people will die tonight. Jemma won’t be one of them.”

The first gunshot echoed throughout the house.



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