He was dangerous to her. She knew she was never going to be safe with him. But she didn't care, because she loved him anyway.
"We can't be together, you know that!" he had told her. She had shook her head tears falling down her pallid face.
"But I love you!" She had told him desperatly, shaking his shoulders. Even though he said nothing, she knew he wanted to. But he was scared, she could tell.
"You coward!" she had screamed, "Why don't you just admit that you love me?" He couldn't look at her after she'd said that. She was right. He could never admit it. He loved her, but he didn't want to ruin her, as he knew he would. "This isn't over!" she had cried as she had stormed ut, wiping her damp eyes on her sleeve. He had stood there, alone, wondering if she'd come back. He wanted her to return, but she never did.
Days melted into weeks with out a sign of her. She never came by his house, and he didn't have the guts to go by hers. By the end of a particularly dificult week, he set out to find her.
He looked for days, maybe weeks. After a while, he didn't know what day it was.
Finally, weeks having passed with out a sign of his lover, he spotted a crumpled body on the side of a road.
Her dry, limp hair hung over her eyes. He rolled her onto her back, revealing a spot where a short steel knife stuck ou of her chest. Blood had dried around the wound. It was quite grotesque, but he hardly noticed. All he saw was the picture of himself gripped in her lifless arms.
"We can't be together, you know that!" he had told her. She had shook her head tears falling down her pallid face.
"But I love you!" She had told him desperatly, shaking his shoulders. Even though he said nothing, she knew he wanted to. But he was scared, she could tell.
"You coward!" she had screamed, "Why don't you just admit that you love me?" He couldn't look at her after she'd said that. She was right. He could never admit it. He loved her, but he didn't want to ruin her, as he knew he would. "This isn't over!" she had cried as she had stormed ut, wiping her damp eyes on her sleeve. He had stood there, alone, wondering if she'd come back. He wanted her to return, but she never did.
Days melted into weeks with out a sign of her. She never came by his house, and he didn't have the guts to go by hers. By the end of a particularly dificult week, he set out to find her.
He looked for days, maybe weeks. After a while, he didn't know what day it was.
Finally, weeks having passed with out a sign of his lover, he spotted a crumpled body on the side of a road.
Her dry, limp hair hung over her eyes. He rolled her onto her back, revealing a spot where a short steel knife stuck ou of her chest. Blood had dried around the wound. It was quite grotesque, but he hardly noticed. All he saw was the picture of himself gripped in her lifless arms.