I lay crying on the pavement. I had no idea he would put me in a headlock. I was traumatised because I had trusted him for my whole life. Love was a clear description of beauty and hell intertwined with twilight and darkness. I loved him. And I loved him unconditionally. Love is a beating heart forever glowing like the fallen shards of silver starlight echoing over the sky in great hoards. All life needs love, even the darkest glimpse of shadow blackened by hate and evil can slip into the light of the pale moon. Love is forever and eternal but not for me. It fails me every time, yet I continue to thrive like a dolphin on an iceberg. But why do I endure in this hell that I'm falling in love with. He's a demon, yet my angel. Heaven is upon me. Blood pours out of my neck. "Why must I do this? Why must I continue to fall for satanic devils that only hinder my brief existence. I feel hate and anger.
Meanwhile in a local cafe he sits alone wondering what fate falls into his lovers mind. "Please die!" Over and over he pondered what a great man he was. I'd fall at his knees and beg for one glimpse of his majestical feature, however brief it could be.
"I should move on" I mutter under my fast, panicked, heavy breathing. "It's the best thing for me!"
He ordered that same sentence from his own lips and that same drink we once shared at the bar. It brings back good memories. However short, they provide distraction from his gorgeous looks. Perfect as he was, his tanned body hid the demonic persona that lay beneath his skin.
Eyes glared down at me, icy blue and twinkling with light. Only one person had them eyes, it was him, Michael Patrick. I was scared but I still felt something for him. It wasn't love. It was jealousy. He had the better life, cars and money and every girl he could want but never once did he want me. He was just a British con man. Rich and blond and tanned and muscular, what else could he need to trick people into his games? Nothing. Absolutely nothing! And her I was falling for his ploy like another of his uncared for 'things' he sacrifices for money and just another tally on the chart of how many fools fell.
"Do you know what I'm here for?" He viciously asked. I nodded. I knew alright. He'd tell me anyway. "Well, I don't think you do! I'm here to kill you!" He snarled. I could smell his aftershave and perfume. Natasha scurried backwards, slowly rising onto her shuddering legs, running as far as she could as fast as she could. Her face smashed against the graffitied brick wall, knocking her out. Michael loomed over her, his fists clenched in what seemed like a punch position. He lowered his arms, crying. "What have I done?" He said, reduced to tears. He sobbed.