Page 70 of Save Me

The drive to the range feels like I’m driving to my own firing squad. Micah is a constant unsolved equation, one that I feel like I can almost crack. I’ve almost seen the real him, but not quite. It’s eating at me, making it hard to look away until I solve it. I have to solve it. If I don’t, I won’t know how to interpret anyone else in the future. Won’t be able to keep myself safe. Micah and his behavior have to be placed in a category in my brain once and for all.

When we get to the range, I almost don’t get out of the car, but then Micah bounces around to my side, a cheerful grin on that stupidly cute face of his, and I find my hand going to the door and opening it.

How hard could it be to break Micah? It can’t be that hard.

“Ready to fill things full of holes?” Micah asks, pure joy in his tone.

I just shrug. The gun makes me anxious. I’ve never shot one before, and it scares me, having something so capable of taking life just…right there in front of me.

Right there in front of Micah. He could turn it around and shoot me with it.

But Micah guides me through the store, chatting with the employees there like he’s completely at ease. I don’t know how he does it, really. He’s a phenomenal actor.

That, or this is who he really is.

My stomach does a weird…something at that thought. But before I can really identify it, we’re in the lane, ear and eye protection on. Micah’s eyelashes are so long I can practically see them brushing the protective lenses.

Then I rip my gaze away. Who cares? I’m here to shoot.

But just as quickly, I’m standing in front of the gun, realizing I have no idea what to do.

Micah strolls up next to me, grabbing a magazine. “So the basics of gun safety are: keep your finger off the trigger till you’re ready to shoot. Don’t point at anything you aren’t prepared to shoot, and always keep the gun pointed downrange.” He nudges a magazine my way, and I start to load it.

“Sorry if I say anything you already know. I just want to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

Micah is already done loading his magazines, chattering about more rules. I try to listen, but I’m focused on the fact that once the gun is loaded, I’m going to embarrass myself in front of him by how little I know, and the feeling makes me want to run. This is a weakness that Micah can exploit.

Although what’s he gonna do in a gun range? Shoot me right in front of the cameras?

“Can I go first?”

I’m broken from my anxious thoughts to see Micah with a sheepish grin.

“I don’t mean to take first dibs or anything; it’s just been so long since I’ve shot. But if I shoot badly, you have to look away and pretend like it came from another row!”

I raise both my hands and back up a step. Gently, Micah shoves me back one more, winking at me. “The shells, they’re hot when they go down your shirt.”

He sends the target downrange to the 15 marked on the wall. He throws me one more quick smile before he aims the gun and fires rounds. It’s loud, but not as bad as I expected, all the shells tinkling by my feet. I squint to see where Micah is hitting, but it’s surprisingly hard to tell.

Sooner than I expect, he brings the target back and groans dramatically. He points at a few bullets that went outside the silhouette. “Well, smack my peach and call me a ding dong; it’s been a while.” He puts the gun down and motions at me. “All you, but if you show me up, remember, I didn’t throw those bullets; it was the wind.”

Despite my nerves, I can’t help but snort.

It’s my turn, and my heart starts racing. I’m one hundred percent going to do this wrong and fuck everything up. What was I thinking, buying a gun?

“Oh, keep your left hand tucked tight.” Micah is on my right, trying to reach around and show me. I pull my hand over to see, and Micah gently shoves it back downrange. “I’ll keep my three holes as they are, thank you very much.”

Three? But I don’t have time to think about it ‘cause Micah steps up behind me, then around, his body brushing against mine. The contact sends a shiver down my body. I hope Micah doesn’t see the goosebumps as he adjusts my left hand.

“This hand provides the steadiness. You’re really holding the gun with this hand; your right hand has other, more important things to think about. Can I touch you?”

The question throws me. Why would he ask and not just do it?

I nod, because can I really say no? I’ll look like a jumpy weirdo.

Micah’s fingers are gentle, just light pressure to move my fingers around. Then he’s leaning around me, trying to check my other hand.

“Ah, yes, finger off the trigger till you’re ready to shoot, excellent.”