She asked for it. Begged, really. “Please get the gun,” over and over. I finally pulled it out of the drawer and leveled it at her head. When I hesitated, she tried to reassure me.
"I consent to this. I want it. I need it.” Her expression was so very calm as she spoke, as if she were reciting a mantra.
That’s when I lowered the weapon and spat in her placid little face.
"I don’t give a shit about your ‘consent’, and never have," I stepped toward her as I spoke, and wrapped my free hand around her throat. "You think that’s what’s stopping me? You think I would ever allow your fucking opinion to determine what I do?”
I spat on her again, and this time she flinched. Her facade was cracking. I leaned in close, and breathed hotly in her ear.
"And if I ever decide to end you," I hissed, "it won’t be with a bullet. It’ll be with my hands."
" Love is putting someone else’s needs before yours." Olaf (Frozen)