trigger happy

R called. He lives in Italy.
R was never a go getter. He was well born and chronically unhappy. The mere thought of dating another eligible young lady with marriage prospects made him sick to his stomach. Literally. Indigestion was his biggest excuse for ditching these beautiful young pretenders. 9-10 years ago he stumbled upon me.
R had a larger than normal sensibility. He gambled with feelings the same way people gamble with money. And he was a feeling junkie to the extent of saying things like: "Hurt me" followed by: "Thank you for existing"
We never had sex in the three years we were seeing each other. We had near sex experiences, but we never had sex.
The freeway was extending narrow and dark in front of us. Curves and rocky mountains guarding the road were painting a very eerie atmosphere. R was driving at safety speed: 60 km/h.
"Step on it" I said.
He glanced at me with teary blue eyes hidden by thick rimless glasses. He accelerated to 75 km/h.
"Faster" I said. "I'm in a hurry".
He looked straight ahead this time and the speed was 90 km/h.
"you can't drive, stop the car, I'll drive."
"you don't have a license"
The speed was 110 km/h now.
"you slow fuck.move it."
"I can't see the road"
I pressed his right foot on the gas pedal with my hand. The speed was 150 km/h. The freeway became small and even tighter. Tunnel with blinding lights. Complete darkness on a two lane road.
"I can't" he was sweating, almost crying.
I opened the glove compartment, pulled out the Smith & Wesson 629 and pointed it to his head.
"Drive" The speedometer read 220km/h. R was sweating white in the face and blind in the eyes. I cocked the gun I was holding to his head. The sound of the bullet stopping at the shooting position bounced off our silence.
"Ahhh" he whispered.
We reached our destination and he opened the door and threw up the tension that accumulated inside him for the past 10 minutes. We walked into the restaurant, sat at a table, ordered Brunello di Montalcino wine. The waiter brought our antipasti than the pastas we selected.
"I think it's gonna rain tomorrow" he said.
I agreed.