Death seemed to be a constant reminder in this one-shack town. It was almost a hovel, and since he was the richest person here, he had the honor of sharing it with the grime that had accumulated on the walls after years of abandonment and god knew what else. Or maybe god didn't know; this didn't seem the type of place god often visited. This den of horror was the epitome of the devil himself; the outcome of god's overlooking. Death was in the walls, on the tables overflowing with empty bottles and bags of white powder. It was in the bathroom, which must have once been white, but was now a neglected and abused color of grey, nearly the same color as his skin.

This was all he was good for; drinking his brain cells and stomach lining away, snorting and downing the strongest drugs that were not even on the market, and a different girl every night. He was a womanizer, but this was different. The women didn't come to him, he paid them. There was no thrill in the catch anymore, and even the prize was not enjoyed. He never looked at them, never spoke. When they were done, he motioned for them to leave, falling back into another sleepless night; alone with his nightmares once again.

The worst one had come two weeks into this hell trip. He had been walking down a freakishly long and deserted street, the sky a dark grey. Every now and then, he spotted a girl, running. She had long curly brown hair that whipped behind her as she ran, her thin legs pushing hard against the ground, almost as if she were running from the devil himself. Every now and again she would stop, and he would get a small glimpse of her pale, thin face before she would run off again. He had followed her all the way to a graveyard, where she had knelt down in front of a grave and placed a bouquet of yellow flowers he had not seen on top of the stone. Then, she knelt down and wept. He had come up behind her, and she had whipped around, staring at him as though he was a spectre, come to life. Only then did he see the name on the gravestone:

Charles Bartholomew Bass

Son of Bartolomew Bass & Misty Bass

Good for nothing, nothing for good.

He had looked at the woman's face and was shocked to see Blair's sad eyes staring back at him as she sobbed the warmth of the chocolate out of her eyes. Reflected in her eyes was the image that would haunt Chuck forever. Chuck had thought of this before, but now it came to life in his nightmare. His body, stiff as a board, was lying next to his fathers, six feet under the ground where Blair's heavenly feet and porcelain skin now roamed, cold and alone. Chuck shivered and woke up screaming, his hoarse throat barely letting out a low yell before he collapsed back into his bed. He ran himself a bath in the grey, grimey bathtub, getting in with all his clothes on. He was not yet accustomed to the daily life routines again. He leaned back in the lukewarm water, his head pounding as his thoughts feebly pushed at his skull, threatening to overflow from his mouth into a string of profane, unintelligible sentences. Instead, he allowed himself to think of her. He could do this now, now that he had seen her in his nightmare. No more pain could be inflicted anymore. The damage was done. Surely she would never return to him; not after what he'd done. It didn't even matter anymore; what did he care? He was good for nothing after all.

And the feeling that she had ripped his heart to shreds--where had that gone? The feeling was as gone as his heart. No; it hadn't been shredded. His heart wasn't paper. Maybe it had been crushed; but his heart wasn't soft. His heart had been forged by the fire;; melded against his will into the unbearable shape of loving someone else.

Where had the days gone, those light days when the meaning of the diamond in his chest had been unbearably locked up from her intent gaze. When she couldn't see just how he felt, although the flickers of emotion on his stone-cold face made them absolutely clear. Those days were long gone; but he knew that he could never go back either. The inebriation and hurt that had fueled this beginning was now fueling this ending. The long hallways in his heart that had been dark before were now something much worse;; they were empty, shattered, and broken into small pieces of something that resembled crystal, but was not nearly as beautiful. Only diamond could cut diamond and now there was a pair for the forging.

How her heart had become like this, he was unsure, but like all other things, he blamed his recklessness with her feelings; his abandonment and cruelty. The emptiness surrounding him was painful, yet welcome. The silence was deadly quiet, yet it seemed to scream at him. The lights blinded him with a fury that only god could conjure up, that was made only for him. Good god, he deserved it.

And then something happened: the lights went dark, the silence stopped screaming, and the emptiness was now full. He looked over to see her. She was standing in the doorway, not blocking the light, but seeming to come out of it; his angel. She just stood, not looking at him, just standing. Her face was a pale shade of hurt, yet underneath it all, she had a grim look of determined pain on her face.

Leave, he told her.

No, she whispered.

Again, but she shook her head and screamed it. NO.

He just looked at her, unable to hear the frequency her thinking was taking her. She walked over calmly to the beast who had ripped the diamond out of her chest so many times, but yet not enough. She wanted it, again and again, and she wanted him, forever. This diamond was a beautiful kind, yet not the kind she would have bought in any store. This diamond seemed to be unique, welded and shaped by the one person whose heart was just as hard, and the only person who was capable of melding it. She was burned, yes, but the fire had welded her heart into a beautiful shape, one she had never felt or experienced before. She didn't say anything, just knelt down and stared at him, no expression on her face.

He looked at her, the light blinding him. His eyes were black with hatred, yet it was for himself. He didn't deserve her, he never would. The past was a constant reminder of how he had hurt her, and now he was here to collect his daily dose of pain from the devil herself.

But instead of slapping him, instead of screaming at him to get out of her already fucked up life, one that had come to be so because of him, and instead of just leaving;;; she kissed him. She just knelt down, looked him straight in the eyes and kissed him softly on the lips, her breath soft and warming on his face, making him feel even more intoxicated. She pulled away and sat down on the floor, looking at her hands.

He saw it then; she would never leave him. Despite everything he'd done, and everything they'd become, she wasn't leaving. She was going to always be there for him. The thought pushed it's way to the front of his mind, screaming at him for approval. No, he thought to the words, I can't; it'd be wrong, after everything to do that to her. But he did anyway. He said it in a whisper, staring at her emaciated face, pale from the long hours she had wasted over him, the meaningless beast who had tortured her soul one too many times.

I love you, he said, his eyes blazing from black to amber for the first time in months. She looked up slowly, willing herself to believe him. She saw the amber eyes for the first time in months and scrambled up to her feet.
She pulled him up. He said it again, and she gasped. She pulled him closer, putting her forehead on his and his intoxicated breath forced it into her mind again, yet the alcohol had no effect on the truth of the words.

I love you.

She grabbed his shirt collar and forced him to say it again. This time, he looked her in the eyes, and said it with a strong voice, knowing it was true. She pushed him down again to the chair and rested her head on his shoulder, a sob coming out of her throat as her tears stained his shirt.

I love you too, she whispered. Their diamond hearts melded together as they sat there, the warmth of their bodies pushing the dark tunnels of their hearts far into the past.