Sweet 16
                           by S. Hanken

	Willow pointed the .38 at his middle, and he lost it. He 
whimpered, pleaded- Gene was utterly pitiful with all his whining, 
groveling on his knees in the dust on the lighthouse floor. "Hon, look, 
I'm sorry, donąt shoot.. She meant nothing! Please!"  She had once 
loved that? That sniveling, spineless toad? Well, she supposed,  we all 
have our faults. Our weaknesses.
	She decided not to be weak anymore.
	She rolled the words off her tongue, sing-songing. "Youąre 
so-rry. She meant nothing. So you destroyed us for nothing?" He 
flinched as she sneered each word at him. Good. He understood what 
this meant. "Iąm sorry is bullshit, Gene."
	"Please.. Willow... You're just being temperamental."
	The gunąs muzzle came up slowly, letting him get a good look 
down the black barrel. He shut up and shook like a rodent with its eyes 
on a snake. Pathetic. He must have seen her hesitate a moment, 
something because he took a chance.
	"Give me the gun, sweetie... Just hand it over.." He crawled 
forward, a giant worm, his left hand outstretched for the weapon. The 
very idea! After all heąd done to her, he thought sheąd still melt 
when he called her 'sweetie?' That sheąd listen to him? She snarled at 
his absolute gall and at his unforgivable arrogance. She was in control. 
His eyes widened as she spat at him and brought the gun's muzzle down 
sharply, aiming. She could see in his eyes that he realized she was 
going to use it.
	CRACK!
	The gun jumped in her hand. His eyes rolled up and he went down. 
Fainting, he clutched his hand to his chest. The bullet had punched 
through the meaty webbing of his left hand. High above, gulls shrieked 
and flapped, circling in the broken stillness of their nighttime roost.

	Willow wasn't quite sixteen when they met... Gene was the 
friend of an ex-boyfriend determined to woo her back. When life had 
been normal, she was a young high school sophomore, younger than any 
of her friends. Too young to drive, and never had a boyfriend. Looking 
at the track record of her best friends, she was really pretty far 
behind. Diane used to wink and toss her red hair over her shoulder,  
sticking her chest out and giving her a simple, one worded explanation. 
"Boobs."
	She often told herself she didn't need a boyfriend, in spite of 
Diane and the rest's teasing. Who wanted a guy following you to class 
like a lovesick puppy, carrying your books? Who wanted to spend every 
moment out of class swapping spit, and every minute in dreaming about 
it?
	Willow didn't want to admit it. She did. There's only so much 
teasing you can take before it starts to sink in... 

	Mike had gotten more than he bargained for when he asked her 
out. One day Willow was fine, the next she couldnąt stand to be near 
him. It wasnąt really his fault, but it was why she later decided to 
never date guys from the same school, as a rule... Itąs nice to choose 
to spend seven hours a day with someone, but to be forced to suffer 
through classes as well as seeing his face seven hours a day, five days 
a week... It got to her.
	She ended it on a good note, eventually explaining to him that 
she was seeing him a little too often. He still tried, though. One 
particular scheme of his to bring her back was a trip to Disneyland. 
He invited two of his friends along. One of them was Gene.

	She hadnąt really meant to do more than flirt with his buddies. 
Steve wasnąt her type, and Gene was a little short. Still, she paid 
more attention to the two of them than to Mike. Especially to Gene with 
his longer black hair and blue eyes. 

	Gene called her. The mischievous, impish note to his voice made 
her smile.
	"Hi, Willow."
	She blinked a couple times, her heart pounding a little faster. 
The edges of her mouth quirked up into a smile. "Hello, Gene..."
	"I know you didn't have that much fun at Disney..."
	She nodded and realized he couldn't see her. Flustered, she 
said, "That's true. Mike was being... weird."
	"Weird?"
	"Just different." She chewed her bottom lip, trying to find 
the words. Why was it so difficult to think? Why hadn't she been 
expecting this? "Umm.. Gene?"
	"Hmm?"
	She paused, something important starting to irritate the back 
of her mind. He made another questioning noise in the phone, her quiet 
pause much too long. She laughed softly, trying to reassure him while 
she figured it out. "Nothing, nothing.. I'm just trying to remember 
when I gave you my number."
	She caught the faint pride in his voice. 
	"You didn't."  Before she could react, he raced through. "I 
don't mean to go without permission or anything, but Ted was being such 
a dick, and I kind of told him that I wanted everyone's phone number 
for next time.. So I, um, got your number from him."
	Willow's face went blank, and she blinked. Twice. His voice 
came through the receiver, tentative.
	"Willow?"
	Her face lit up in a grin, barely able to believe. A guy she 
liked returned the feeling? She bit her lip to keep from laughing, joy 
rising up from her heart to her head. "It's fine, Gene- I don't mind."
	Relief flooded his voice. "Great. I decided to try and call. 
You know, see if I could make the other day up to you."
	"Sure! What do you have in mind?"

	They'd been out a couple times when she asked him to join her 
on her sixteenth birthday. They had a blast at the amusement park, 
sharing sodas, snuggling in line, screaming for the rides to go faster. 

	The weeks turned into months. The happy couple hardly noticed 
the time passing as they grew more and more comfortable with each other. 
And more physical.

	Gene's hands slid up Willow's back, under her silk shirt. 
Snuggled up to him on the couch, her arms around his neck, Willow 
sighed softly. She looked around the room, not really focusing as Gene 
kissed along her neck.
	"Gene.. Don't."
	She pulled her arms in, her palms on his chest. She saw the 
color in his face rise as he blushed, his left frozen at the button on 
her jeans. 
	"Willow..."
	One corner of her lips quirked up a moment, her doubt and regret 
flashing across her face. "I'm not ready, Gene. Please?"
	Her words made him frown slightly, though he nodded. "Alright." 
He stroked her hair with his left hand, smile tainted with a small look 
of lament. She lifted her head and kissed him, softly, and they held 
each other.

	Sweet sixteen... Thatąs how she'd think of the good times with 
him. The good times... And the times she didnąt see. 

	"Willow... I think we need to talk." His naked back was to her, 
turning a light shade of sunburn. His black Stones shirt lying in the 
grass, jeans riding his hips. She watched the lines of his ribs shift 
as he washed his car in the summer sun. The cement steps under her 
were ice cold from the shade. 
	That phrase. Still... "About?"
	"I love you, but..."
	"But?" Oh God. She felt her blood turning to ice in spite of 
the heat, suddenly knowing what was coming and not wanting to hear.
	"... I donąt know if I want you to be the girl I spend  the 
rest of my life with."
	Her world reeled in sudden vertigo... The past year may as well 
have been a dream. All the love and trust she had, shattered in the 
span of a few words. It was all she could do to fight not to cry then. 
Willow couldnąt even find the voice to disagree. She left in shocked 
silence. Her parents took her away on a family vacation the week after.

	Las Vegas. New Mexico. Other states she hardly paid attention 
to, sights blurring the window with shades of yellow, red, brown, green. 
Virginia, Washington DC, Niagara Falls, Canada... None of it seemed 
important enough for her to really pay attention to. All she kept 
noticing were the ravens. Giant black birds too big to be natural on 
the signposts, cawing in their raw old-man voices. 

	Willow swore she saw Gene once on the trip. Her mother was 
going on about how beautiful Banff Jasper was, her camera clicking 
away. All she saw was trees, gray skies. A raven the size of a small 
terrier peered at her from its perch on the stone turnout wall. Then 
she saw him. It couldn't have been anyone else- The shoulder-length 
black hair, the stance, the shirt from some Rolling Stones concert too 
familiar. Willow almost called out to him - But then a blonde with a 
little boy came up and took his hand, walking away. Away from her. 

	Returning home a week early, Willow packed for a visit. She had 
a little 'I Luv You' bear she'd won in a Vegas kiddy casino tucked 
under arm. With a worry stone of rose quartz warming in her palm, she 
jogged up his front yard, avoiding the treacherous and unbalanced stone 
steps. Instead of knocking and ruining the surprise, she tried the door. 
It came open easily. She smiled. He'd always been bad about locking it.
	The house was black as she entered, his two cats winding 
themselves around her ankles, mewling hungrily. She wrinkled her nose 
against the thick, hot scent to the house- The thick stench from the 
catbox nearly choked her after her first step into the house. The faint 
scent of stale sweat lay just underneath, and a pang of worry touched 
her heart... Was he sick? Could Gene get out of bed at all?
	She kicked his boots out of the way as she hurried down the 
hall to his room. His door was shut, and she could hear his labored 
breathing just standing outside. Willowąs heart lumped into her throat 
in fear. The doorknob rattled slightly in her hand as she turned it, 
swinging the door quietly in towards his room.

	Frozen in the doorway, she couldnąt look away from Gene's back 
as he held himself up, hips pumping. A girl's hands trailing on his 
back. The girl's open legs and Gene's hips were mercifully under the 
blanket, but Willow didnąt need to see to know. 
	Willow heard herself whimpering and couldn't stop. Gene spotted 
her, looking at her with mute shock, his hips stopping in mid-thrust. 
A murmured complaint below him, the girl sitting up. Diane. Willow 
turned and ran out, the two calling to her as she fled. Let them call.

	A few nights later, Gene knocked on her door. She'd conveniently 
been 'out' for his calls, and Diane's too. He smiled sheepishly at her 
when she'd answered the door.
	"Hey."
	She looked back coldly.
	"I know... You must be pretty mad at me."
	"You could say that, yes."
	He shuffled his feet, making her heart thump lopsidedly in her 
chest. "I'm sorry, Will.. I guess I.. Well, I thought I'd lost you, 
after that fight... I thought I'd lost my girlfriend."
	"What fight? We didn't fight, you just told me you wanted to 
fu-" 
	"Will, sweetie, I was wrong."
	She stood there, fuming. She could agree with that.
	"Hon, it was a moment of weakness... Please forgive me."
	Willow didn't need this. She didn't need him. Who needed a 
boyfriend, anyhow? She opened her mouth to tell him where to stick it-
	"Alright."
	A moment of weakness indeed.

	Willow became more and more needy as Gene and her second year 
together passed. She had cut all contact to Diane completely quite 
shortly after she stumbled onto her and Gene. Willow knew that she 
hadn't heard Diane's side of the story, but she didn't want to. Not 
now, not ever. Willow thought it probably wasn't fair of her to not 
listen... Though life wasn't fair, was it?

	She forgave him.
	She didn't forget.

	Gene's hands slid up Willow's back, pulling at the buttons of 
her black shirt. Her back against the wooden door to his room, Willow 
sighed softly. She looked around the room, not really focusing on Gene 
as he kissed along her neck.
	"Gene.. Don't."
	She put her arms in between him and herself, lightly crossing 
over her chest. She saw the color in his face rise as he blushed, eyes 
flashing in frustrated anger. His left frozen mid-way up her thigh, the 
other lifting her skirt.
	"Willow..."
	One corner of her lips quirked up a moment. She tried to hide 
the regret flashing momentarily across her face. 
	"I'm ready."

	They laid on his futon bed, the sheets rumpled around them. He 
snored softly into his pillow, his back barely against hers. Willow 
clutched the blankets, wringing them between her hands. She kept the 
bedclothes over her breasts, staring straight ahead at Gene's curtains. 
Ashamed. Tears shimmering in her eyes. Escaping onto the pillow. This 
wasn't how she wanted it. She had wanted it to be special. Not like 
this. Not for revenge, or one-upmanship. Not to just keep him.
	Closing her eyes, she felt herself beginning the slow, 
dreamless descent into sleep.

	RIIING!
	A phone pealed noisily next to Willow's ear, waking her. Out 
of habit, she lifted the receiver from the hook, muttering a groggy, 
"Hello?"
	"Hello?" A throaty, distinctly female voice echoed her. 
	"Who's this?" She slowly registered she was lying down in 
Gene's bed, talking on his phone.
	"Wouldn't you like to know." The voice was smug, condescending. 
As if she knew something Willow didn't.
	"Who the fu-"
	"Simmer down, chick... I suppose you'd call me the other 
woman." 
	She felt her heart implode. "The.. Uh..?"
	"Other woman.. You don't really think you could have him for 
yourself?" 
	Willow slammed the phone down, hard. Stared at it in shock. 
	It rang again. 
	Picking up the receiver, she slammed it down again, hard, and 
left it off the hook.
	She sat on the edge of his futon, rocking slightly, staring at 
the disconnected phone. Unable to stop the tears. She rocked forward 
on the balls of her feet, back on her heels.
	Her heel stubbed against a wooden box peeking just barely out 
from under the bed.
	Willow had never noticed the case under Gene's bed before now, 
staring at the dust-coated wood. She lightly brushed her fingers over 
the case, feeling the wood's grain through the stubborn coat of dust. 
She lightly flicked at the tarnished brass clasp.
	It popped open, revealing a .38 and a few shells, along with a 
faded photograph. Hands shaking, Willow reached for the photo, its 
edges yellowed and faded. The woman in the picture wore the .38 proudly 
on her belt, holding up a string of ribbons won at the shooting range 
behind her. A moth of recognition fluttered at the back of Willow's 
mind.

	"Gene, who's that woman in the picture?"
	"Where?"
	"There, at the back- Behind that little boy."
	"... She's my mom, Will."
	"Oh... When.. How did she..?"
	"MS. About a year before I met you... She was.. Amazing, my mom. 
Painter, poet, and a crack shot with a pistol."
	"I'm sorry, sweetheart."
	"Don't be... You know, I think she would have liked you."
	She'd smiled and let her attention be diverted. Never occurred 
to her that he might have kept her gun, or anything else aside from her 
awards or her pictures.

	Now, she was starting to get ideas.
	Willow silently got up and carefully took the cold colt into 
her hand, surprisingly heavy. She'd shot a pistol before in summer 
camps, and she was sure she'd remember how... Keeping a careful eye on 
Gene as he slept quietly on, she slid the gun into her purse. She'd 
have to find where she could get some bullets.

	"Hey, Will, quit dreaming."
	Willow turned to Gene and managed a small, sweet smile for him 
before turning her head and watching the landscape blur outside his 
Audi's the window again. Brown. Oranges. Reds. Green. Blue as the 
cliffs fell away into the ocean. If Gene had thought to actually look 
into her eyes, he might have seen something. She chewed her fingernails 
idly, staring blankly out the window at the setting sun. 
	She felt so empty. So used up.
	The gun's weight pressed almost painfully into her stomach, the 
barrel poking her inner left thigh from where it was tucked under her 
jeans. She felt the gun metal there against her skin, warm from her 
body heat. Her heart thudded nervously.
	She didn't know what she was going to do.
	"Will?"
	She looked over, masking her blank look with another saccharine 
smile. "Hmm?"
	"We're almost to the peninsula... Where did you want to go 
again?"
	"Out near the lighthouse... I mean, I've lived out here all my 
life and never seen it up close.."
	"You really sure that's all you want to do?" He chuckled and 
leered at her, winking. 
	Willow felt her stomach flop. Struggling to keep the bile down, 
she decided. Returning his wink, she slowly licked along her front 
teeth. "Maybe." 
	With a thick laugh, Gene turned the Audi off onto the barely 
paved road to the lighthouse.
	The lighthouse wasn't even really locked, the padlock holding 
the door shut badly rusted with disuse. Gene snapped the lock away 
easily enough, holding the door for her with an expectant grin on his 
face. 
	Butterflies swam in her stomach as her boots left tracks on the 
dusty floor, cobwebs blowing eerily on the slight draft they let in. 
She had to fight not to tighten up when he slid his hands around her 
from behind. She had to let him as he started to unbutton her shirt, 
disturbingly glad he hadn't started with her jeans. The gun weighed 
heavily against her skin. Her voice was high, but level. "Gene?"
	Gene was nibbling along her neck, sinking one hand lower, 
moving it slowly down across her belly. Fingers inches away from the 
butt of the gun. "Hmm?"
	"Who is she?"
	His hand faltered a second, and she felt him stiffen and almost 
move away from her. Answer enough, but she waited to hear.
	"Who's who, sweetie?"
	Willow set her jaw and narrowed her eyes, shoving her right 
hand under her waistband and grabbing the handle. Jerking her elbow up 
and into his stomach, she yanked it free and backed him away from her.
	She spun and brought the gun up, saw his eyes widen in 
recognition. Willow brought the .38 level with his chest, scowling. 
"Liar." She bared her teeth and wrinkled her lip into a snarl. 
	"Will, honey, don't jump to conclusions.. You know you're 
always doing that.."
	She lowered the .38 to his middle. He lost his cool, pleading, 
promising. She wasn't going to buy it this time. Sorry was bullshit, 
he'd cheapened what they once were. Cheapened her. And he expected her 
to roll over, give him the gun. Naughty girl, have a kiss and a light 
swat on the bottom. With a shriek of rage, Willow pulled the trigger.

	Willow closed her eyes, cobwebs blowing across her face, 
whipped free form the gulls flight from the lighthouse tower. Feathers 
drifted down at her feet, Gene cowering there, his bloodied hand 
clenched between his legs. She watched at him impassively.
	He was out cold. It was just like him, in a way... Always 
denying her satisfaction. 
	A hot bubble of fury ran through her blood and she kicked his 
ribs. The fleshy thud was satisfying, but he didn't wake up. Didn't 
even groan.
	Willow stood over Gene's form, pulse thudding in her ears, 
hands clenched into fists around the gun. "Get up," she growled, "Get 
up. Get up!!" 
	She stopped.
	The reality of her words echoed in the stillness of the tower, 
proof of her actions drawn on the floor in blood. She was worse Gene if 
she went through with this.
	She backed away, stumbling through the hanging cobwebs. Worse 
than Gene. She moved cautiously close to Gene, dropping the gun on his 
shirt. She touched him only long enough to rub the gun clean. Walking 
slowly backwards, she saw the dust on the floor being blown in slow 
circles, covering her footprints. Erasing her presence from the tower. 
	Letting her start over.

	She shook her head in the stillness. "Gene, Gene, Gene... I 
can't believe I let you walk all over me like that. Let you fuck around 
and tell yourself it was alright. Hmph... Let myself pretend I didn't 
care. Even give myself up to you because I thought that was what you 
wanted. Needed." 
	She sighed. "I suppose this is a rather extreme way to say it, 
but I don't think it's a good idea for us to see eachother anymore... 
You have a real problem with commitment. 
	"I'd stay and nurse you back to health, but I'm tired of my 
life always being you, your needs, your wants- There's no real reason 
for me to stay. You can't prove I did it, since it is your gun, can't 
prove I was here. And most importantly, after all of this, I'm no 
longer sweet sixteen." 

	With a half-hysterical laugh, Willow dashed out the door, into 
the chill night ocean air. The night itself was deathly still, as if 
shocked to silence by her actions. The scent of sea-salt hung in the 
air, unbroken even by the startled gulls. 

	A large raven stood on its clawed feet in front of her, 
blocking her path. It was eyeing her, beak open into wickedly curved 
points, head turning about. It cawed at her in its raw voice, 
deafening,  the only sound in the still. The bird took to the sky, 
flapping its wings, shrieking away from her.

	Turning her back on the lighthouse with a grin, Willow began 
the walk home.