Rated: M
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Adam and Eddy
Summary: She is my happy ending. She makes me who I am and who I have been trying to find. This is the story of how I killed her.
TW: Major Character Death
AN: This story is going to be written from the ENDING TO THE BEGINNING. The fun of the story will be figuring out who, why, and how. Reviews are welcomed.
There is a girl that I am in love with. Not the stupid kind of love, and not the sane kind either. She means the world to me. She is everything I have ever wanted and so much more. I can't stop thinking about her- every song on the radio, every picture in my head. I want to give her everything- to make her feel the way that she makes me feel every single day of my life. I'm crazy for the way she talks, the way she thinks, and the things she hides. I want to know her, to feel her, and to spend the rest of my life with her. She makes the bad days not so bad and the good days worth living for. Even still, with all these things she makes me feel, I would give it all up- every smile and nervous heartbeat- if it meant her happiness. Her love gives meaning to every heartbreak and every pain. She is my happy ending. She makes me who I am and who I have been trying to find.
This is the story of how I killed her.
When I look into the mirror I see a bunch of shapes. A blur of pale skin and ebony hair that stare back at me like I am some cold-hearted killer. I scrunch up my nose and narrow my eyes in an attempt to upset the face that makes such accusations. They're all true anyways.
I lean forward so my stomach is pressed up against the edge of the counter and turn the tap with a shaking hand. The water erupts from the faucet and burns my skin, washing and painting the porcelain sink with gross reds and lethal intentions. I let my hands fall limp under the flood, dead like the rest of me and the body lying motionless on the tile.
When the last thread of diluted blood disappears down the drain, I straighten my back and wipe my hands on the towel folded neatly beside me. The faucet is wiped down of fingerprints, the towel is soaked in kerosene, and the body is dead as ever. I clutch the putrid cloth to my chest and lower myself to the ground beside her, tucking the rebellious strands of dark hair behind her cold ear and shaking my head as I realize for the billionth time that she's beautiful- maybe even more so in death. Some part of me, the naive part that I try so desperately to tuck away, leans down and cranes her neck until I feel soft lips against mine, hoping that maybe true love's kiss will save her this time. She doesn't wake up.
It's on me, I suppose. I dab her forehead with the towel, every motion as mechanical as ever. It's not like I'm disturbed, or disheartened by the failed notion. I've never been her true love, and even the most powerful magic of all can't bring someone back from the dead. I lay the cloth over her face and stand, stepping over her body and turning back for a final look when I get to the door. I slide my hand into the pocket of my suit jacket and withdraw a little book of matches, striking one on the rough side of the box and watching the flame ignite in a brilliant orange blaze. The burning bulb licks down the wood until it dances dangerously close to the edge of my thumb. For a second I consider letting it singe me, punish me. I don't even deserve that.
A flick of my wrist and the place is ablaze. I walk away slowly so I can smell the sweet, charring flesh of the girl that I am still very much in love with. I can't find it in me to cry.
We haven't spoken in a couple of weeks. She certainly doesn't expect me to show up with a towel, a knife, and a can of kerosene tucked under my arm. She does that thing where she furrows her eyebrows and parts her lips a little bit like she's trying to find the most proper way to tell me to fuck off.
I push inside the apartment before she has the chance, shouldering past her and knocking her off-balance. There's a long moment of hesitation before she closes the door.
"Snow," she says, voice gruff with displeasure. "What the hell are you doing here?"
It's not nearly a question, and far more than a demand. She's always been so rough around the edges, explicit in her orders and relentless in her expectations. I run my thumb along the handle of the short blade, heart rising to my throat as I meet her eyes.
"I found a way. A way for you to have your happy ending."
She looks skeptical- like she doesn't trust me. I bend to set the blue can on the carpet and drape the towel over the handle. She watches every movement with cold, calculating eyes.
"And what exactly do you plan to do? Burn down the apartment?" Her voice aches with allegations. She sucks in a sharp breath and storms forward, pointing a stiff finger at the can and giving more orders through clenched teeth. "Get that out of here. I want nothing to do with you, Snow White."
The declaration stings more the billionth time around. No matter how many times in my life I have been rejected by this woman, it never gets any easier to be told that I'm not wanted. My heart is crushed into a powder finer than her fingers could ever squeeze. It takes a moment before I can move again, knees wobbling underneath me as I try to regain my balance.
"Do you remember this, Regina?" I ask, holding up the knife with watery eyes. Her expression falters for the slightest moment as she recalls the golden handle. It's the knife she tried to kill me with a long time ago in the Enchanted Forest. The one that she thrust into my stomach with vengeance shining behind her eyes.
"Of course I remember that," she answers quickly, raising her chin and resting her hands over her hips. "Why are you here? You can't kill me." She pauses, confidence behind the slight pull of her lips as she meets my eyes. "You're in love with me. You're weak."
"And you are just as in love with me, Regina," I shoot back, letting the knife fall to my side. "I know you better than anyone. Stop pretending like you don't know why I'm here. Love is not weakness. It never has been. You're the strongest woman I have ever known, and still you stand here and you turn me away. Haven't you hurt me enough?"
"No, I have not!" she lashes, but her eyes give her away. "You listen to me, Princess. Whatever you think you are doing here, whatever self-righteous punishment you think you need to serve me, I don't want it. I don't want you. Now get the hell out of my apartment."
"I don't want to punish you." My voice sounds small and more vulnerable than I should ever let myself be around her. Hot salt burns against my eyelids and no matter how hard I try to blink back the tears, it's impossible to keep dry cheeks around her. "I'm not here to hurt you. I could never hurt you, Regina. Why would you think that? I just want you to be happy." The knife slips through my fingers and clatters to the floor. I struggle to my knees to silence the battle of metal against the dull wooden flooring.
"Then please, enlighten me. If you are not here to hurt me, then why on Earth did you deem it necessary to bring a carton of fuel and a knife into my home?" She is not fazed by the tears leaking down my face as I stand and gather the said supplies in my arms again. The five-gallon can is heavy, maybe forty or so pounds, and a real strain on my arm.
"Can I show you something?" I ask, dodging the question we both know the answer to. She stiffens like she's about to ask me to leave again. "Please."
"Make it quick," Regina snaps, impatient as ever. I nod and limp in the direction of the bathroom. She follows close behind with her gaze digging into my shoulders and adding false weight to the load slipping from my fingers. Every step resonates in my head and the ground feels thin underneath me, threatening to collapse from the burden of my overwhelming paranoia. It's almost like a trance, a coping mechanism for my mind to completely lose it's grasp on what I'm about to do. A numbing poison that seeps through my veins until each step is empty on it's own and I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror and seeing straight through the smooth glass.
"What do you see?" I breathe, arm coming unhinged and can slipping to the tile. Regina walks up behind me and squints at the reflections of us. A former evil queen with a tortured past and the hardened princess who ruined it all and never got the chance to put it back together.
"I see you and I see me," she answers, expression plain. "Stop wasting my time and tell me what you want to hear."
"What I want to hear?" I shake my head and lift my hand to the image of myself, fingers hovering just over the surface, careful not to press against the glass. "I want you to be able to tell me, truly tell me, that you are happy. If you mean what you say, Regina, then I will never be able to give you what you need. That is all I want." I twist my wrist and touch my knuckles to the reflection. "Regina… even after all this time, after everything we have been through, I am still so in love with you. All I've ever wanted was to do the right thing. To keep goodness in my heart. I'm sorry for all the pain I have ever caused you. Truly and completely sorry." I turn and take a step towards her, keeping the knife pressed against my thigh to stop myself from shaking. "There is only one way that I know for certain that you can have your happy ending. You've always wanted to be without me. The huntsman, the knife." I hold it up for emphasis, sad brown eyes branded into silver.
"Are you insane?" She cuts in, lurching forward and making a grab for the weapon. I yank back and catch her wrist, pulling her close and continuing on in a fragile voice.
"If I am, then know you are the reason."