Broken Walls

13. Reality Check

 Under my skin, under these scars
Take me again, tear me apart
'Cause I want to see everything you are
'Til all that's left is not myself

Take away everything
Burn away all of me
As I break I believe
You will come to rescue  

- Trading Yesterday.

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A loud bang split the air as Shawn compressed the trigger, the bullet flying out of the gun and hitting the target dead on. Third one in a row. He steadied his stance, tightened his grip, and let off a few more shots, all landing within range. His smirk grew as he pulled off the protectors from his ears and sauntered forward to remove his target.

It felt good to go back to what he knew and where he was comfortable, since nothing else in his life seemed to make sense anymore. Everything he'd ever thought about the kind of person he was, and where he was going, had changed in an instant. An instant that began with an argument in the rain, and ended with a confession on a rooftop.

But the feel of the weapon in his hand, the smell of gunpowder and oil, and the sting that radiated up his arm after a shot, made him feel like himself again. Like the person he'd always been. The one whose skin he was comfortable living in. Shawn reached out and grasped the paper, pulling it away easily with a distinct tear. Turning around, he spotted a figure standing in the spot he'd just vacated. "Come to learn a few things, I see."

Bohnes scowled. "No. Came for an explanation, actually. Nice of you to bolt before I even got up this morning. Real mature, Shawn."

"An explanation about what?"

"About those pictures and about why Camila was in such a hurry to see you last night."

A frown took the place of Shawn's satisfied smile. "I'm really not in the mood to talk about this right now," he said as he made his way back, folding the target and placing it on the small ledge next to his firearm.

Bohnes crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. "When do you think you might be in the mood to discuss it then?"

Shawn bent over to collect his bag, sticking the paper inside and holstering his gun. "How about never? Does that sound good to you?"

"Come on, Shawn. Stop being such a dick about this."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't want to talk about it before you get it?"

Shawn pushed by Bohnes and exited the shooting gallery, depositing his gun in the weapon's room located just outside. The hallway was empty as they made their way out. Each door along the way remained closed, the lights turned off. Only the sound of their echoed footsteps gave any indication that anyone was in the building at all. At the end of the hall, Shawn thrust open the heavy door to the locker room and stepped over the threshold. The smell of sweat intermingled with bleach and air freshener hung heavy in the air.