Bound Eternal - Part Three
WHAT THEY BECOME
Days bled into nights, and Donny learned that crossing the right lines earned him her touch—the kind that felt like reward, like proof. When he showed force, raised his voice, or took control, she drew closer, eyes bright with approval. Emma showed him love with words and seduction. Everything he dreamed of while locked away for a decade.
“You feel it too,” she said once, straddling him, still electric from a fresh robbery. “Don’t you?”
“Feel what?”
“That this only works if we don’t get careless.”
He should’ve asked what she meant. Instead, he nodded.
Later, she traced the inside of his wrist, her voice low and steady. “If one of us ever stops wanting the other, we don’t drag it out. We finish… clean… together. Remember that, okay?”
“Finish what?”
“Us.”
He laughed, uneasy. “That’s fucked up.”
“So is pretending,” she said serious.
And that was it—the vow. Not spoken over blood or knives. Just planted by her, and growing fast, roots twisting deep before he even realized they’d taken hold. He told himself it was just crazy love; that Emma was a broken girl trying to love the only way she knew how.
Nobody’s perfect. He sure as hell wasn’t.
One night, after a stupid argument, Donny stormed off to the shower. Not long after, Emma followed. Her voice trembled with urgency, the kind that sounded more like fear than guilt. She told him she loved him, desperate to patch the wound before it spread.
Donny stayed quiet. He was too angry to say it back. But when the water hit his skin, the silence hit harder—it felt like a mistake he couldn’t take back.
Would she take it as a sign?
Would she think he didn’t love her anymore?
If he ever needed space, would she wait? Or would she act first, dragging him into whatever came next?
The thought gnawed at him, slow and steady, until he realized he wasn’t afraid of losing her.
He was afraid of what she might do to keep him.
The bell over the door gave a sad little jingle as Emma stepped into the video store. The place smelled like the faint ghost of movie theater popcorn from a decade ago. Rows of faded VHS cases leaned against each other like tired soldiers beneath the half-working neon lights that buzzed from the ceiling like dying flies.
It hadn’t been planned. They did this one on impulse—no masks.
It was as simple as Donny whipping the car up to the curb and both jumping out. He wanted to prove he loved her with a surprise movie night.
Inside, Donny went straight for the counter while Emma drifted toward the aisles, scanning the shelves like a bored shopper. The clerk was young—early twenties, acne scars, and unprepared for any of this.
“Register,” Donny said, calm but firm.
The kid blinked and fumbled with the drawer.
“All the cash! Let’s go!” Donny screamed, growing impatient with the kid’s slow pace. He pulled his gun and tapped it on the counter. “Move, move.”
Behind him, Emma tilted her head, holding up a VHS. “Hey, babe,” she called out, “Natural Born Killers?”
“Oh, whatever you want, baby. This night is for you.”
She smiled and looked at the clerk. “That’s right. Cause my man loves me!”
Donny didn’t answer.
The clerk dropped a bill and bent to pick it up. He was shaking like a leaf so badly his fingers couldn’t work correctly.
That’s when Emma felt it—a rage that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. A betraying hurt, sharp and senseless. Her hand moved before her mind caught up. The gun was already in her grip.
Then the shot went off.
Just a single, clean sound and the clerk folding in on himself, more surprised than afraid. His head hit the counter on the way down. That dull, final thud landed harder than the gunshot itself.
He was dead.
Emma stood there, huffing in the smell of gunpowder mixing with the stale popcorn air.
Donny froze.
Emma stared at the body, breath steady, already assembling the explanation.
“He startled me,” she said immediately. “He moved too fast.”
“Bullshit, let’s go! Now!” Donny’s voice cracked through the silence, sharp and desperate.
He turned to her—not angry, not yet—but the look in his eyes hit harder than any shout could have. Disappointment.
Emma opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but nothing came out. The words died somewhere between her chest and her throat. Donny grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the door. The bell over it gave that same sad little jingle as they burst back into the night.
“You didn’t have to—” Donny began, turning the car off into a dark alley. “I can’t even—”
“I know! I know! I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “It was an accident.”
She made it sound believable, but Donny could tell she wanted it to sound that way. He drove for a long time before speaking. He wanted to choose his words wisely when dealing with Emma, especially since she was armed and had just killed someone.
“This won’t work,” he said finally. “Not like this.”
She looked at him. “What won’t?”
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “The robbing shit and… it’s not. Just not.”
“Wait, what?” Emma frowned. “So, what, we stop?”
“For a while,” Donny replied. “Gotta let the heat blow over now. You killed that kid back there.”
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