He always said he'd never stop fighting for us. Everyday he'd tell me. He'd raise that little eyebrow of his and give me a smirk. Even in the mornings I'd wake up, he'd be running his hand up my chest, letting it reach my cheek, stroking lightly with his thumb. 'Morning gorgeous, here's to another day of fighting for us.' It never annoyed me. It showed me how determined he was. How he wanted nothing more than for us to be together, living the white picket fence life as we called it. We had it all planned, marriage, kids, holidays. You name it, we planned it. There was only one problem. He was married. He was married and she wasn't letting him go. We named her the dark one. Always in his head or mine, always taunting us, messing with our thoughts. I hated it. I hated her. She didn't want anyone else to have him. She could see how unhappy he was, how miserable he was with her. There was no love, no passion, nothing. But she didn't care, as long as he was trapped and in pain it was good enough for her. We'd arranged to meet last Thursday. He wanted to take me away, show me where he grew up, but he didn't show. He left me cold and alone outside the post office. I gave up waiting eventually, 10 phone calls and countess messages sent I grabbed my bag and walked home, holding back the tears that stung my eyes. He called me Friday, said the dark one was on one. I could tell in his voice something was wrong. Something was going to happen. He appeared at my door Friday night, bags in hand. 'I'm free' he smirked throwing them on the floor. We made love that night. It was perfect. As we lay there we spoke about our plans. How we would start our life together. I laid in his arms, our fingers interlocked across his stomach. It was perfect. He was was perfect. We were perfect. But then it changed. Saturday came round and by Sunday he was gone. She took him. The dark one claimed him. I couldn't stop her. He couldn't stop her. Bottle of vodka in one hand and a gun in another, she fired at his chest, sending him hurtling to the ground. I stopped breathing as i crouched down beside him, pressing pressure to the gunshot wound. The dark one laughed as she was tackled to the ground. I sobbed hard whispering everything we had spoken about to him, promising him that was he wasn't going to die. He gave me that smirk as pain travelled through his blooded body, he lifted his hand to my cheek and attempted to raise his eyebrow, his thumb rubbed against my cheek and I knew what was coming. I let the three words escape my mouth letting them fall into his heart, making him smile. He locked his eyes with mine, keeping his thumb moving in the same soft pace. He opened his mouth and let out a small gasp of pain. I lent down connecting my lips to his, not wanting to let him go. I pulled back and watched him as his breathing slowed. 'I love you too.' was what left his mouth, followed by those six words 'I'll never stop fighting for us.' And with that his eyes closed, his body flopped, and his hand slipped slowly away from my cheek.