Connor's POV:
June 20th, 1999.
Never again would I see her.
Today was the last day I would hear her voice say my name, the last of which I would feel her in my arms, so small yet strong.
Nineteen year old Danielle Kristina Smecker…
I know everything there is to know about her. Her future career plans, what her late parents were like, what friends she had in high school, her favorite food and drink. She told me absolutely everything I wanted to know, as if there were the slightest chance of us being able to have a decent future together.
The hammock creaks underneath me as I lay on it, slowly swaying back and forth, a bottle of vintage moonshine dangling from my hand. The loud foghorn of the ship bellows out its trademark tune, signaling the boat's movement across the great Atlantic Ocean.
I throw an arm across my eyes and snarl quietly to myself in pointless self-pitying. I'm grateful Murph and Da were exhausted enough to fall asleep before me.
The bitter liquid burns down my throat, tiny drops of it trickling down my chin. But, the dull fire flowing down into my body welcomes itself as the rage and denial consume the remainder of emotions in my head.
Is love even supposed to be this fucking painful? I know I had done the right thing by letting Danielle go. Then again, that thought only made her sound like she was a prisoner of mine…
No, fucking never…
While I admit that we had only known one another for a few months, it was a frightening and engaging experience for both us.
I really wanted her to be happy and safe for the remainder of her days after all the hell she had to endure. If I could have gone back in time, I would have wanted to treat our relationship like that of a normal couple. A courtship absent of destruction, danger and bloodlust…
But what the hell had I been kidding myself? I wasn't some knight in shining armor come to save the princess from an invincible evil that only I could defeat.
I am a Saint of Darkness who brings the hazards of vigilantism to those I care about. God had given me the task of keeping my Angel of Purity safe from those who would surely attempt to damage her than she already was. And try they did…
Each swig of the alcohol brings back the agony of recently looking into her tear-stained eyes of emerald green as I said goodbye to her, irises the color of my beloved Ireland…
The bruises and scars that marked her body, but had faded mercifully over the passing weeks. Please, sweet Holy Virgin. Let nothing else troubling befall her in my permanent absence.
That is all I can ask for when it comes to her from now on. I cannot ask her to return my feelings, no matter how much I desire for it to be true that she really does.
She had told me multiple times over the past months of our time together. And I believed her with all the admittedly foolish hope of a clichéd romantic.
But, where my own feelings were telling me, I knew them to be one of the true things I know any more these days.
Yes, I was and still am in love with Danielle Smecker, and God help whoever mocked me for succumbing to that sensation. It is dreadful, yet wonderful at the same time.
There was the ecstasy of brief happiness we felt when we were around each other. The explosive passion of our first kiss, the flawless way her body fit in my arms, the way we moved in synchronization with one another when we first made love, the movements of her heavenly and brave form underneath me as I did my damn best to not scare or hurt her in the process… I had to remember that she was technically still a virgin when it came to giving a man her consent to claim her.
Now, I can only hope that my mark is left on her in some shape or form, no matter what it may be.
I don't become aware of the tears stinging my eyes until the moonshine bottle slips from my grasp and shatters onto the wooden floor into dozens of broken shards. The liquid sizzles and bubbles up before dissolving into the old surface of floorboard.
I try to convince myself that the love I hold for this young woman has emasculated me, robbed me of my manly pride, but the better judgment in me beats out the arrogance in my personality.
The truth is that I was being a better man by thinking about what was best for her, by taking myself out of her life so she can move on. I loathe leaving her behind, but it's the best thing I can offer her from what my conscience has told me. Freedom from a life of crime as her friendly companion and danger as her clandestine lover…
The feelings of love and hate combine within me as I close my eyes and try to block out all the noise from the ship.
Love represents the motive for the woman who will stay in my deepest prayers for the rest of my days.
And Hate is what creeps in me now for the price I have to pay for loving her, the misery that leaves me cold as I try to slip into slumber. I only have a slight measure of faith that God will understand why I let go of the only woman in America I came to truly care for.
Because a killer does not deserve to taint the beauty of someone so good, one who is meant for better things than what I can give her, which is only my heart.
AN: What do you think? Too fluffy? Please, leave your reviews!