I try to remember.
Lucy, and Johanna too.
But after fifteen years of living in hell, with no outlet to the real world, no sunlight to comfort me, and no wife and child to come home to, what was I to do?
...
Mrs. Lovett handed me a bottle of gin, the usual drink along with supper, a few hours ago. Unlike all the other nights, I sat down and tried to think.
I tried thinking about my past.
...
One third of the bottle later, my mind was made up.
Lucy had yellow hair.
So, I continued to drink.
...
I had finished half the bottle, with a conclusion.
Lucy was a saint.
So, I continued to drink.
...
Only one-fourth of the bottle remained, and I had decided something.
I missed Lucy.
So, I continued to drink.
...
I raised the bottle up to my lips and tried to catch the last few drops.
I couldn't think, however.
I was drowning in misery.
My Lucy was gone.
...
I tried to remember.
But it hurt so damn much.
And nothing but painful memories came to mind.
That hellhole I lived in for fifteen years was better than the mental torture I had just experienced.
But still, I tried to remember.
Because I love my Lucy.
AN: Even though I hate BenXLucy, I felt that I should write this. The idea came to me one night while I was working on my novel, and so I sat down and wrote it out. It's most definitely shorter than I wanted it to be, but I think I made my point... Yeah!
Disclaimer: I don't, and will never own Sweeney Todd.