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She never thought her life would end up like this. She kissed him so he would leave. She thought it would be fine. That she would love this him all the same as the last two. He would be human this time, grow old with her. She thought he would be just like him. He said he would be just like him. He couldn't have known could he? Of course not, he would never had left if he had know that-
It had been two months. Everything was going great until-something snapped in this new version of him. Something went wrong, wasn't wired correctly. She was shocked. To see this man in his body do— It was terrifying.
He was terrifying. She hated it.
She sat in her car, avoiding heading back to their flat in central London. She couldn't remember the last time she saw her mum, dad, and Tony. She couldn't even remember the last time she had even been out of the house by herself or answered the phone without him around. How did she let it get this way? She wasn't strong enough. She hated it. She would hear that sound outside their window at night and jump up. Hoping to find him. It was never him. It was never anything. She sat in her car. She hoped he wouldn't call. That he wouldn't come for her. She wanted so much to hear that sound. She wanted for him to come for her, to save her. She knew she would have to leave soon, that he would be here if she wasn't home within the hour, but she couldn't bring herself to start the car. Maybe if she just waited a few more minutes he would come. Her phone was ringing now. She had waited too long. He wasn't coming.
The flat was a mess. The furniture was still turned over from the night before. The glass coffee table was shattered from when he—she had to wear long sleeves, trousers, and a scarf. It was the start of August. He glared at her from the kitchen table. She wanted to leave. She wanted to runaway, far away. She closed her eyes and hoped to hear that sound. Hoped he would burst through the door, raising hell. She waited. He didn't come. Instead, he charged towards her and began yelling something about cleaning this mess up. That she was a whore. How did she let it get this bad? She closed her eyes; maybe he would come. He didn't. She was on the bed. How did that happen? He-again. Again. Why does she let this go on?
Her body was in the most pain it had ever been as she cleaned up the glass from the table and placed the furniture back where it belonged. She didn't belong here. She wasn't supposed to be used to the pain. She was supposed to be able to feel the pain, to feel anything. She cried then. Even if it was just a few tears, it was better than nothing. Nothing is how she felt. Empty is what she was. How did it get this bad?
He left. She went to sleep. She heard that sound, his sound. She didn't even bother to get up this time. She should have. He was there he left. It was an accident, an anomaly. He didn't come on purpose. He still wasn't coming for her. She lied there; empty, staring at the ceiling, looking for something to save her. She had given up. She wanted to die. He wasn't coming.
She closed her eyes. She didn't sleep.
He was home. Two days he was gone. Two days she had her solitude. Two days she could close her eyes. He was yelling. She didn't move this time. He came for her, she wanted to die. He did it again. What hadn't he done? It meant nothing. How did she let it get this way? It was her fault. She was the only one to touch him when he came here. She broke him. She let it get this bad. He was still yelling and—everything else.
He broke the sofa. She passed out. How did she let it get this way? She heard the sound. Her favorite sound, she cried. More than just a few tears, she cried for everything. He heard her. He broke the rest of the plates that night. He broke her too, but that was a while ago. Nothing mattered anymore; he could brake whatever he wanted.
She kept hearing that sound. She heard it all the time.
He went out again. She tried to sleep, but she could only close her eyes and hope. She heard the sound. She ran to the window again. He had boarded it up. She cried. Again. How did she let it get this bad? He came home. He was only gone thirty minutes. That time. She was tired. He sat on the couch. She cooked his dinner. She didn't eat. Again. She heard that sound. There was a knock on the door. He told her to shut her mouth. She hadn't been talking. There was a voice, behind the door. She could have sworn it was him. She almost smiled a bit; he made sure she didn't. The knocking stopped, whoever it was had left. She felt a tear run down her cheek. It stung. He left again. She closed her eyes again. He wasn't coming.
She kept hearing that sound. She hated it.
He came back, he yelled, he broke more things, even the already broken things. Even her. She wanted to die. There was more knocking, more words behind that door. She hadn't been out since that day, in the car. She really had stayed out to long. She waited for him. He hadn't come. She wanted to leave. She wanted to breathe again. She didn't get to leave. She would never breathe again. She didn't have to want to die anymore. She was trapped inside a broken body. She could feel herself die. At least he couldn't really break her anymore. She stopped hoping, she stopped wishing. She still heard that sound. Even over him and his shouting, his destroying. She wished she couldn't hear at all.
He wasn't coming. She hated him.
He left again. It had been days. She stopped counting. She stopped everything. She heard him burst through the door. It was loud. Maybe he broke that too. She pulled her body out into the hall. She stared. He stared back. She wasn't really looking at him or she would have noticed. She would have noticed the broken look on his face. Maybe everything else around her was so broken that look just blended in to well. She should have opened her eyes. She would have noticed that suit, the coat. She should have been listening. She would have heard that sound. She would have heard him calling her name. She would have realized he was really him. This time.
She walked away.
He cried. He wasn't coming. He was here.
She closed her eyes, waiting for him to come in and—she didn't care anymore. He had broken her too much. He walked in instead.
She felt his arms around her. She didn't notice that they were really his.
She didn't get what she expected. She was gently carried out of the house. She felt something warm fall on her face.
He was still crying. She looked up at him. She opened her eyes. She saw him. She tried to say something.
She couldn't remember the last time she spoke. She could only gasp, if you could call it that. He closed his eyes this time. She felt a bit like breathing. She tried, she passed out.
She opened her eyes. Had she actually slept? That had to have been a dream. She heard him call her name. She looked over and he was smiling. He hadn't done that in a while. He stopped apologizing for—the things he did a while ago. She looked up at the ceiling. Not the same ceiling. She gasped. It wasn't a dream.
She cried. He held her. She closed her eyes. She went to sleep. She could feel herself trying to come back to life.
She heard that sound. She loved it.
She woke up. He was next to her, looking down at her. He smiled sadly. He reached for her. She jumped. She fell out of the bed. She screamed. She cried.
She said sorry. He was rambling about how she never had to apologize to him. That it was his fault. She tried to smile. She couldn't. She said sorry again.
She couldn't remember the last time she spoke. She couldn't remember the last time she had been anywhere but the flat. She could remember the last time she tried to smile or tried to do anything. She decided she didn't have to remember. She could breathe. She smiled. He grinned.
She could hardly remember the other him. She was glad she decided she didn't have to remember. She liked it. She liked being able to like something. She liked being able to breathe. He walked in. She smiled. It was a small one. He saw it. He grinned. He sat down next to her. She moved away. He frowned. He kept saying that he was the real him. She believed him. But it was hard.
Same face different smile, same voice different words. He tried to hold her hand. She flinched away and cried. Same body different actions. She hated him for doing this to her, for doing this to him. How did she let it get this way? It was her fault. She wanted to die. She wished he had killed her. She stopped crying. He left the room. She had never seen him cry. He cried all the time now.
She made him cry. She hated herself. She hated everything.
He came back. He brought her food. She tried to eat it, for him. She threw up on him instead. He tried to clean them both up. He tried to touch her. She screamed. She fell off the bed. Again. She hated this.
He asked about a shower. About cleaning her up. She couldn't let him see her like this. She cried, only a few tears. She said no. She walked away. He cried.
She decided to stop talking. Again.
He asked if she wanted to see her mum, if that would help. She closed her eyes. She didn't sleep. He walked away. He cried again. He hoped she didn't see. She did, she hated it.
She wanted to die.
It had been weeks, month's maybe. She stopped counting. She stopped everything. Again. He kept coming. He stayed. He took care of her. She was still in the clothes from that day. She didn't want him to see. Underneath. She was still broken. She didn't want him to know. How did she let this happen? How could she do this to him? She cried. He stayed. He held her hand. She didn't flinch, she didn't scream.
She gasped. He smiled. They both cried.
She got up. She took a shower. It stung. She slipped, she screamed. He came in, yelling her name. She cried. He was going to see. He saw. He cried. He held her. She didn't runaway. She let him.
She smiled. He didn't see it.
He helped her into clean clothes. She closed her eyes. She slept. He left. He came back. He said it was over. He was gone. They were back home. Home. She cried. She was happy. He told her they could never see her family again. She didn't care. She hadn't seen them in years. She cried, this time sad tears.
He held her. She let him. He smiled. She saw.
One year went by. She could breathe completely again. She spoke again. She was better than before. She could wear short sleeves; she didn't have to wear the scarf. She wore long sleeves. She wore the scarf. She hated it. He smiled. It didn't meet his eyes. She smiled. It didn't meet her eyes either. She hurt him.
She cried. He didn't see. She was thankful.
He offered to take her on a trip. She smiled. It almost met her eyes. She was proud. She frowned. She was proud of an almost smile. She was ashamed. He didn't notice. She agreed to the trip. He grinned.
She heard that noise. Her heart leapt.
They went to London. They ate chips. She smiled. It met her eyes, just barely. He almost jumped out of the booth. She smiled again. She laughed.
It surprised her. He grinned again.
They went dancing. She laughed some more. He laughed a ton. They went back home. She was tired. Her body ached and she felt it. She didn't mind. She sat on the sofa. He made her dinner. They ate. She heard him laugh that big laugh.
She heard that sound and she loved him. Again.
He came for her.
They went on more trips. She loved it. They went on a real adventure again. He loved it and so did she, they laughed. They ran, held hands. He blushed. So did she. She broke the royal crown. They were banished. She laughed that big laugh.
He heard that sound and he still loved her.
Since they ran hand in hand.
Another year went by, they didn't notice. They had stopped counting. They were to busy laughing. They loved it.
He took her to New York again. She cried, only a tear or two. She smiled. He hugged her. She loved him. She told laughed and asked where the action was. He grinned mischievously and rubbed his neck. He was nervous. She loved it. He had a picnic for her. She laughed. He smiled that smile. She melted. He loved her.
She wondered if it was a date. He wanted it to be. She did to.
More weeks and more months came and went. They had more picnics, more adventures, and more 'dates'. She loved him. He loved her. They never stopped smiling. She wore whatever she wanted. He was happy. She was too.
They were the same again.
She was so happy. It made her nervous. She hated it. They were having supper. She wasn't eating. He was starring. It had been two hours. He asked about it, about what he had done. She cried. He held her; she flinched. He cried.
They cried together, they weren't the same.
She hadn't heard him cry in a long while. She hated it. She did this.
He kept asking. She told him. He cried and so did she. They closed their eyes; they didn't sleep.
He hit her. He raped her.
She had nightmares again. So did he. They hated it. It would get better again. Wouldn't it? She was happy that she told him. He was to. Time went by, they went back, to how it was in the beginning. It was hard; she flinched a lot, he cried a lot. She wore long sleeves again. She wore that scarf again.
He hated it. So did she.
He made her hot chocolate and read her a book one night. She loved it. He held her close. She let him. They smiled. They closed their eyes. They slept. No nightmares.
They went to lunch, in London. They were the same again. They loved it.
They had more adventures and more dinners that meant a bit more than before. They laughed again, really laughed. The goofed around and they were happy.
She loved him. He loved her. Things were the same again. They loved it.
They went to the moon. He kissed her. She blushed. She kissed him. They smiled. They laughed. He kissed her again and she kissed back.
A year went by. They kissed, laughed, held hands, and ran. They loved it.
She didn't laugh, smile, or run exactly like she used to. She tried. She couldn't. It made him sad. Her too. He still loved her.
So much.
She loved him too.
It was great. They were great.
He took her to London. They went to the old shop. The one she worked in. It was still under construction, after all these years. They went to the basement. To that spot. When he told her to run and she did. Hand in hand.
He proposed.
So domestic.
She loved it. So did he. She said yes. He said run. They got married in New York. The 15th one.
She loved him. He loved her. They were the happy.
Years went by. He stayed the same. She grew old.
Years before she told him to leave her.
He said no.
She smiled. She hated that.
He smiled too.
She held his hand and he kissed her. It was hard for her to breathe again. She cried. So did he. Time was running out. He was angry. How did he let it get this way?
He knew how.
Her.
He loved her.
She was leaving him. He cried. She didn't see. He was thankful.
He still made jokes; he still laughed, and smiled. It was hard.
Time went by. The smiles stopped meeting his eyes. She noticed. He hated it. She did too.
She stopped talking. She stopped everything. She didn't want to die.
She felt herself giving up. He did too. They held each other. They cried. She couldn't breathe anymore so she decided to stop trying. She hated herself for it. She couldn't help it. She wasn't strong enough. How did she let this happen?\
She was gone.
He went back home. It wasn't home anymore. He cried.
He left London.
He heard that sound. He hated it.
She wasn't there to hear it anymore.
She had left him. He hated her.
He hated that.
He tried to keep going. To go save again. He couldn't. He would look at things and see her. He would hear things and hear her. He wanted to hear laugh, to see her smile.
He missed her.
It wasn't fair.
She was gone. He couldn't be here anymore. Not without her. He stopped talking. He stopped everything. He wasn't strong enough for this. He hated it.
He dropped a cup of tea. It shattered. So had he. He threw a chair. It broke. So did he.
How did he let it get this way?
A year went by.
He thought. He had stopped counting.
He spent all of his time in their room. He wrapped himself up in her.
Pictures. Clothing. Anything.
He cried more than he ever had. He hated it.
She wasn't coming.