this is narrative, right?

The truth is, I don’t care anymore, she said, pulling her jeans up over her ass. I closed my eyes and lay back on the bed. I imagined how it would feel to buy a revolver. I pictured myself handing over a stack of bills and taking the gun in my hands for the first time. When I opened my eyes, she was gone.

I got up. I walked around. I looked at my apartment with the eyes of a stranger, and I realized that I hated it. It wasn’t where I had wanted to live. I tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up, which was a relief. I didn’t know what I would say to her, anyway.

My phone rang. I picked it up, thinking it might be her, but it wasn’t. It was Dave, inviting me to a party. I said, Yes, I’ll be there. He said, Good. I haven’t seen you in weeks.

I lay back down on my bed, on top of the comforter, not between the sheets- because, between the sheets it smelled too much like her, and that scent made me embarrassed. I imagined myself shooting the revolver. I imagined the sound, and the heat on my hand. I stared at the ceiling and breathed. For a long time, I took air in to my lungs, and then I let it out, slowly, again and again.

When I got up, I put on my clothes, and jacket, and shoes. I went out, to the store on the corner of my street, and bought a fifth of whiskey. When I got home, I poured myself a tumblerful, and sat on the floor at the foot of my bed, drinking. The phone rang, and I let it go.

When the sun had gone down, I filled an empty water bottle with the whiskey and went outside. I walked to the bus stop and, after a short wait, got on the bus. I sat, I drank, and I waited to arrive.

When I got the party, I felt lonely. Dave started to introduce me to everyone- I knew no one there. It seemed as though Dave had made all these new friends since I had last seen him. I didn’t understand why he had invited me. I said stupid things to these people. I hated them, and I let them know it. I threatened to break bottles over their heads. I took of my jacket and rolled up my sleeves. They laughed and talked among themselves. Dave stopped introducing me to people, and I felt superior.

When I had finished what was in my water bottle, I walked home. It was a long walk, and when I got home my feet hurt. I took off my shoes and lay on the bed. I imagined the feeling of metal against my temple. I stared at the ceiling and remembered what an asshole I had been.

I’d told her I wasn’t feeling so good. I said, I don’t want to talk about it, but I have not been feeling so good. She pressed- she is always pressing- and I barked. She took off her clothes and climbed under the covers with me. She put her hands on me. I didn’t want them near me, I said, Don’t. She said, What am I supposed to do? I told her to fuck off. She said, I miss you, in a quiet voice. I’m right fucking here, I said. How can you miss me?

She got up, deliberately, and put on her shirt and socks and underwear. The truth is, I really don’t care anymore, she said, pulling her jeans up over her ass. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, she was gone.

The truth wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore. The truth was, she was tired of working so hard. I knew that. But the way I saw it, she was the one pressing. I hadn’t incited her exertion. She put herself through it.

I didn’t really believe that, though. I knew I’d been making her work since day one.

I fell asleep thinking about these things. When I woke, I drank water and left the apartment. I looked like shit. I got on a bus going downtown. I wandered there awhile. I found the place I was looking for. I went in. I browsed. When saw it, I knew it was right. Grey barrel, white enamel butt. Embossed on its underside with the American flag.

I put my money on the counter and the shopkeeper put my choice in my hands. I took hold of, and it was heavier than I wanted it to be.

I buried it in the inside pocket of my jacket, and I took it home.

I sat cross-legged on the bed. I put it up to my skull, just to know. I pulled the trigger, and it clicked in my ear, like a cracked knuckle. Then, I put it down on the sheets in front of me. I stared at it.

I got up and retrieved my toolbox from the back of the closet. I brought it back to the bed.

I opened the toolbox and took out everything that looked like it might be useful. I unscrewed screws, chiseled away at welded joints. I deconstructed the gun completely. I laid each piece of it out in front of me on the bed. I stared at it and I breathed.