AN: Written for the Miserable Melodies competition by Hermione's Harmony. I used the song 'Love The Way You Lie' by Eminem ft. Rihanna as my sad song inspiration. It's Lucy/Lorcan, from Lucy's POV. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Dear Lorcan,

My time is running out.

I don't know how to start this letter off. My hands are shaking even as I write these words. I'm writing because I don't know what to write. I'm using these words because I don't know what words to use. This is what it's come to. I can't even write a simple letter without trembling all over and wondering if I'm putting down the right thing.

I'm crying. Can you see the tear stains on the paper? You hate it when I cry. It's one of the few things that reminds me I'm still alive, but you hate it. Why are you always the one who makes me cry? I don't mind, though. When I cry, you cry, and you kiss me and our tears mingle together. It's so raw, so real. This is the only time I see true love in your eyes, love for me. Is that why you make me cry? To convince yourself you still love me? Oh, but I love you. I love you so much. Isn't that enough?

My family makes me cry too. You know what they're like. Molly was around just now, 'checking up' on me, as she tends to do when it suits her. She said the place stank of alcohol and cigarettes. She tried to ask me how I was, why I was still here. She asked me about you, and said that she could get help for me if I wanted. I screamed at her as she begged me to come home. What does she know? Who does she think she is? She disappeared when I needed her, went off for a whole year travelling around the world. I wasn't important to her anymore, and now she's acting like she knows better, like I need her. I don't need her, or anyone else.

She's not you.

I make myself cry, from time to time. You've caught me crying for no reason before –those were some of the times I made myself cry. With pity for myself, anger at what I'd gotten myself into, sinful thoughts about leaving you. I don't make myself cry as much now, though. I could never leave you. The time for that has passed. I was crazy, thinking I could escape. I love you. You'd come home and remind me of that, and I'd curse myself for thinking about escape plans, for thinking about calling Molly or my dad or Louis or anyone. I'm sorry for doing that. But it's alright, don't you see? It's OK, because I realised that I would stay. I realised that I couldn't leave. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone. But now… now I might not have a choice.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for having no control over what's going to happen. I'm sorry for never having any control, for never stopping you. What if I had stopped you? Would I be here now, crying my eyes out over a letter? Please don't punish me. I couldn't help it. It's not my fault, I promise. Please don't hurt me. I love you.

I love you. Those words are so painful to write, and even more agonising to say. I am usually burning when I say them. Scars, scratches, bruises, cuts. Warm blood and colourful skin, cracked lips, a dry tongue that whispers, "I love you". And you always take my face in your rough hands – and I don't flinch this time when you touch me, because I know the hurting is over – and stroke my cheek, crying with me. Then you smile at me, so tenderly and lovingly I can't tear my eyes away, and brush your lips to my damaged ones, sending electricity through my veins. You still manage to excite me when you kiss me. When we're lying in the wake of our destruction, everything around us ruined and burning and terrible and normal, and I'm lying in the sting of my own blood and you're shaking all over, it thrills me. You don't scare me; this is what we are made of. This is us in a snapshot. You break me down, shatter me, destroy me, hurt me, and then build me back up again with one kiss, ready to melt back into your arms. In these moments, I believe everything you say.

As you destroy me, you're slowly destroying yourself as well.

I'm sorry I made this hard for you. I didn't mean to be difficult – don't punish me for it. Molly will be back soon, with the others. She'll bring somebody, I know she will, and then everything will be over. We will be over. This fragile life we've built around pain and torture and everything that's supposed to be wrong will be ripped apart like a spider's web. I hope you find this letter before they find you. I'm not going to be around to save you – I don't know how I know this, but I do. So run, Lorcan, and remember that I love you. Run.

I used to think you were an angel. I was convinced this whole thing was perfect and beautiful and right. They said that it wasn't safe, that you'd lost your mind. Have I lost my mind too? It doesn't matter anymore. You're my hero, no matter what happens. I think that along the way I kept you sane as well. I don't even mind that you took everything out on me, because I know it was because you loved me and you needed me.

Maybe nothing about this was ever perfect or right, but it was beautiful. We were beautiful, Lorcan. Beautiful, and don't let them ever tell you otherwise. They don't know what we know. They don't know about the nights we spent together, lying in our destroyed bed, wrapped around each other's wrecked bodies and breathing in sweat and blood and tears, sharing secrets we'd never shared before and laying ourselves out in the open for each other in a way we never had done for anyone else. It was beautiful. If you remember nothing else, remember that.

Don't ever let them tell you that you're evil. You were in love. I don't know what's right or wrong or fair or just anymore, but that's what love does. It distorts everything, for better or for worse. They'll never see things the way we saw things, Lorcan. Our world is for us and us only.

My time is running out. You're home now. I can hear your footsteps outside the door, your key in the lock. You'll see me crumpled on the floor and I'll know what to expect. The sharp, cruel blows. The pain. The tears and the whispered, "I love you". It's always the same. I'll hide this letter in a safe place where only you can find it. I can't give it to you. When you read this, I'll be lying in your arms, bruised and bloody and defeated, but beautiful. You always said I was beautiful, even when I wasn't. Even when you were done with me.

I won't be breathing.

Don't break down. Don't cry over me. My time has been running out for so long, it was always going to end like this. We both knew it. I've cried enough, Lorcan, please don't join me. And whatever they tell you, don't believe a word of it. Their words are poisoned lies. We were true, Lorcan, together. I love you.

Remember that we were beautiful.

AN: All my stories are ending in death recently, I think I've got a problem. XD Please review :)