6 months ago...

As my eyes open my limbs flex in shock. There is a liquid in them, around my entire body too. Tubes run up each nostril and all that meets my skin is the warm glass that surrounds. There is binding on my limbs and around my neck. Without a conscious thought, a choice, my body does what any must to survive. Every muscle is stronger than it should ever be and there is no mental restraint on the force I can use. Snapped bones are preferable to death. In this way my captors have underestimated my strength. The liquid rushes out of the newly shattered glass and I step out, bindings in place but their anchor points free.

I want to stand but for the moment my legs have given way to gravity, shaky, weak. The retching goes on for so long I lose track of time and then I realize what the stench is. This isn't water at all, it's a preservative of some kind. I blink, blurriness fading, surroundings more crisp. The coldness of the air is more apparent, stealing the warmth given to me by the foul concoction that has swept over the grey floor. I want to use all my senses, get a feel for whatever this is, but the foul odour dominates the air and the chill freezes my skin and the little brain power I can muster.

I must have dozed off because I was awoken by someone shaking me violently.

I wake like I'm hooked up the mains. No sleepiness, no slow warming up. Within seconds of realizing I was unconscious I am on my feet, eyes wide, dreams not just forgotten but obliterated. I am drinking in the feedback of all my senses. Aside from my own noisy breath there is nothing to be heard and the woods are simply too dark to see much at all.

"Hey," a voice called from behind me. My eyes frantically scanned the enclosed room for something I could use as a weapon if the need ever comes.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Here take this," he says in a hushed tone, sliding a little knife towards me.

I took the butter knife and slid it up my sleeve for later. It wasn't the steak knife I had been hoping for, but given enough force behind it into some soft region and it would get the job done.

"I'll keep you, safe. I'll always keep you safe," I've heard that promise my whole life, in the same tone from the same person.

"Roman?"

Present time...

I felt a raindrop fall against my skin, followed by several others, but I didn't have the heart to go back inside. I moved over and sat on the edge of the roof, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back on my palms to observe the remaining constellations uncovered from the clouds. The moon hung full and hazy beneath an eclipse of blazing stars, allowing me to see the rooftops of the identically bleak buildings surrounding my own. My body was a fountain for the incoming rain, the water making my eyelids heavy. I closed my dull green eyes, a rattled sigh passing through my parted lips as I did so, causing my breath to fog up in front of me, obscuring my vision, as I took in the feeling of wet, bruised skin.

Nights like these reminded me of my time spent at home — Kurt's home — we'd sit out on the porch, count the stars and make out like horny teenagers. It was almost like I could feel him in the raindrops.

Memories are often invoked by a fragrance, for me it is the smell of Hazelnut latte; Kurt's favourite — then I am at the cute little cafe, glistening in the afternoon sun. Yet for me the strongest memory, the one that feels most like being sunk into one of those alternative reality machines, is the giggle from my neighbour's baby, Melody. It is more delicate than wind chimes and just as chaotic, just as melodic. In these quiet moments I think of a future without the man I walked out on. I wonder how he's doing. I hope he isn't drinking and working himself down to nothing.

He probably is though, that's just how Kurt handles pain.

I caused him pain. He was probably hurting because of me, because of my selfish needs and requirements.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my shins; if I could just curl up into a ball, I wouldn't have to face real life, I'd be protected from everything around me.

But I'd still have to live with myself, with the wretched memories swirling around in my head.

The memories of what happened a year ago — something Kurt would never understand.

When the guilt comes it takes me down the old familiar path. I want to refuse to walk it, pretend that I am the person I demand that I be. I want to see myself in sepia tones, not perfect colour. I want to scrub my head, but if I did I'd never learn from what happened. And it's true what they say, "Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

And I couldn't bare that. So I keep my eyes on the horizon and my mind tuned to creating a positive future; because really, isn't that what everyone needs?

It's been an entire year.

365 days without Kurt.

I was suffering.

I couldn't sleep at nights; not without him.

I had gotten so used to someone holding me throughout the night, kissing me and telling me how much they love me that I couldn't fall asleep without that — I couldn't fall asleep without him telling me that he loved me. I couldn't asleep without hearing his heartbeat; strong and steady, against my head.

I couldn't sleep in such an empty bed — empty house.

But I couldn't go back home not after how I left.

I had to planned to return home after I found out what I did, just a month after I left, but I couldn't.

I have tried to throw him out of my head. But he keeps coming every night. I don't know if I should really call it a nightmare. Because I always wake up before I get to see the part where I break his heart.

Maybe I can never get rid of it, or maybe I don't want to. It's the only part of him I can hold onto. And every time I see him I revise through all the other options I had — break this heart, create a diversion, or let him kill me. But I had done none of them, and what's done is done. I can't ever change that. I let him haunt me every night, so I can still have part of him and hope that one day he will forgive me.

God, I hope he forgives me.

He probably knew something was wrong. Nights leading up to my departure I would randomly tell him I loved him. We'd have alot more sex; it was like I had to take enough from him to keep myself upright for when I finally decided to walk out that door and never come back.

There are days when I just want to pack up this life I made for myself and run back into the comforting arms of Kurt.

I want to beg, plead, get down on my knees and tell him that life here has meaning, that our love has meaning, but I couldn't, I needed to stay focused.

I was unusually quiet that night. Normally, I'd talk his ear off from the ride home until we got into bed.

I remember it like it was just yesterday.. It still feels like it was

I bit my inner lip for just a half second before sitting next to him, flicking my hair in the fading light of the evening.

He gave me a worried look but I cut him off before he even got a word out

"I love you." It took everything in me not to break down right there knowing that was the last time I would ever see him.

I love you. I love you with everything that I am but I'm so scared that if you stay with me you'll die.

Of course, I don't say that but I wanted to. I wanted him to know the real reason behind my leaving. I wanted him to know that it wasn't his fault. As cliché as it sounds it wasn't him, it was me.

He looks away, I know his eyes are full of emotion he doesn't want to share.

I could tell he wanted to know more but he didn't push it.

I'd rather put myself in the firing line infinite times than have him here with me.

I loved him more every day in the three years we spent together, more than words could ever express. I would live infinite lifetimes by his side if I could. But this battle has my name on it, it's my destiny.

This isn't the future I thought we'd have, but if we want a beautiful world for our children, our grandchildren and all the generations after that we must go our separate ways. It was the only way

"I love you," I whispered into the darkness, pressing my cheek against my knees.

"I still love you"

There is a tenseness to my muscles that makes me more like a mannequin on this soft mattress than a woman of flesh and bone. I want so much to melt onto the soft foam, wrapped in eiderdown, and drift into the world of dreams. Yet my brain is a violent whirl of stupidity, trying to organize the chaos in my life. It seeks to discover a way to control the capriciousness of people, to acquiesce and please them so that our encounters are softer, less draining. Of course the task is pointless, life is far too random for a human brain to take the billions of factors that come together to form just one day for one person. Though my conscious brain knows all this by subconscious remains stubborn in its attempts to protect me, to ensure my survival. Ironic really, what I really need to survive tomorrow was sleep.

This sleeplessness is my torture. While the rest of the world embraces their dreams, their eight hours of rest, I toss and turn chasing the white rabbit.

Emotional pain leaves invisible scars, yet they can be traced by the most gentle of touch. Sometimes, like a cyst, the "wound" must be opened to be healed; other times a well meaning person may seek to heal what should be left alone.

A/N; Okay, first of all this chapter is a bit short because it was unnecessarily stressful. I accidentally deleted the first draft so I changed this chapter completely.

Take 2 wasn't that impressive either so I deleted that too. Hopefully this chapter was okay. Please let me know..