Page 129 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"You should have left him alone," she whispers.
"Maybe you're right," I try again. "I should have. But even if you kill me, it's not going to make him love you more."
"I'm not going to kill you," she says, smiling. "You're going to kill yourself."
"What?"
"You're going to jump right off that balcony," she gestures with the gun, "and die. But before that, you'll write a nice suicide note for Grayson, so there's no awkward suspicion that I had anything to do with it."
Oh God. She's crazy—and cunning.
"Come on, Marina…"
She points the gun even harder at me, and I hastily put up my hands, palms out. "No, no, I'll do what you ask, Marina, I promise. But can't we at least talk about this first?"
"No," she says flatly. "Do it. Now."
"I…" I'm frozen. What do I say? How do I get out of this? "I don't have a pen and paper," I finish lamely.
Without taking her eyes off me, she reaches with her left hand into the Chanel flap dangling from her elbow, carefullypulls out a small gold pen and a leather-bound notepad, all while keeping the gun trained on me with her right hand. Then she crouches, placing the pen and pad on the floor and sliding them toward me, never breaking eye contact.
God, I'm so screwed.
I lean down and pick them up. She gestures with the gun for me to start writing.
I move slowly, cursing that my purse with my phone is in the living room. It might as well be on the far side of Manhattan. I have no chance of reaching it. Not that I could call for help if I had it anyway. If I tried, she'd just start shooting, and at this range even a mentally unstable, pregnant woman could hardly miss.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep calm. My pulse is racing. Is this how it ends for me—a tragic death at the hands of my lover's ex, taking both me and his baby from him in one instant? One finger tightening just a little more on that trigger, and I'll be gone.
I sit on the sofa, balancing Marina's notepad on my knees, and start to write. I try to make it a long, elaborate suicide note, with hints of the truth hidden by the first letter of every sentence. It's stupid, but it's all I can think of. Thing is, my mind has gone blank and I cannot think what to write.
I'm acutely aware of the woman in front of me, the gun still steady in her hand. The initial shock is wearing off, replaced by a raw, pounding fear. My heart hammers, my muscles lock, my breathing comes in quick, uneven bursts.
It's such a stupid way to go. I don't want to die like this.
Please, someone, help me.
"Make it quick," she barks, and I jerk.
Then suddenly, directly behind Marina, the door bursts open and someone shouts my name.
Marina swings the gun around toward the noise, and without thinking, I take my chance.
I leap toward her, but before I reach her, she's already turned back, training the gun on me again, but the other person has the same idea and tackles her full-length, slamming her to the floor just as a shot rings out.
"Don't hurt her!" I hear someone shout. That's George's voice.
"Don't hurt her? She just shot me."
That voice. I know that voice.
"Grayson!" My heart seizes. "Have you been shot?"
I grab Marina's hair, ignoring her wild screams, pulling her off him while Grayson wrestles the gun from her grasp.
"No!" she yells. "No! You're mine! You've ruined everything!"
I ignore her, dragging her completely away so I can see Grayson. Blood spreads across his shirt, and another kind of fear takes over.
