Every morning the moment the sun touched her eyelids and she was roused from slumber the same questions reverberated in her skull.

How could you let it happen?

Why were you so unbelievably selfish?

Did you ever even care?

Why did you take their sons?

And it was hard in those first few moments as scenes from the sad movie that was her life flashed beneath her eyelids to want to live. She wanted to die because life didn’t seem worth it. The sun would warm her cheeks and keep the tears at bay. She had filled an ocean with her sorrow; she had no more to spare.

Withdrawn, they said she was in denial. They said she was depressed. That wasn’t true she was slowly dying killing herself from the inside. Guilt had a way of doing that to a person.

She couldn’t return to a family she had stolen from. They wanted her back; they wanted to surround her guilt. But that wasn’t love no that was their bitter anger that forced them to draw her back, to tie her down with their grief. She had enough to handle by herself. All those old friends that she and the other two had called their own seemed like ghosts of their former self. She saw the blame in their eyes even if they knew nothing about it. She saw it everywhere in the faces of strangers.

They didn’t want her alive; they would have her dead gladly if it returned their two heroes. She was nothing but the damsel that had got the knights killed. It was her fault, she had killed them. She was a murderer that was allowed to walk free in their midst and children were ushered away, and eyes were narrowed in disgust.

Why hadn’t she died yet? They whispered their voices dripping with disdain and she asked herself as well. Why did she live when no one, not even she wanted her to be?

Then he came with his cold anger and his biting sarcasm, jaded by life. He had eyes like quicksilver and he burned her with his gaze. He looked through her and laughed at her troubles. He called her pathetic, said she was a waste of space. She told him she agreed and he was disgusted. He had seen her first at a bar sitting lonely and drinking firewhiskey. He admitted that he had aimed to taunt her but he found her too wretched to insult. And that was a wake up call, he kicked people when they were down, he didn’t feel remorse he didn’t really feel at all.

He was cold and disturbed; she could see the brink of insanity wavering in his eyes. His movie was a sad one as well. But he made her alive, she insulted him, she raged at him and she felt more there then she had in years.

She hated him, old grudges didn’t die easy. They had coffee regularly. Their voices harsh tones and their words meant to hurt. He made her cry again and that felt good, the tears were nice. She made him curse and storm and she knew that felt good for him too. They made each other alive even as they tried to destroy the other. One would break and they worked towards that.

He kissed her one night. Harsh and bruising, drawing blood, she kissed back. They had made hate. Flesh hitting flesh in a chilling rhythm as their groans and hisses mixed with the night air. It felt right and it fit in with their sad little movies that they called life, a mirage of pictures that they couldn’t connect with any longer.

Red hair mixing with even redder blood

Cracked glass in frames of black

That was a life that was gone, that she couldn’t touch any more. But she could touch him and he could touch her. And they hurt each other to feel because that was life now. Pain, in its winding spiral, they were up before they hit rock bottom.

He hit first.

And there was no brink to the insanity, it overflowed his silver eyes and she felt it in his touch. He had lost everything, more then she had. She realized too late that she didn’t want one of them to break, that she needed him whole. But he was too far gone.

The last time she saw him, they had made love. And it was even better then before and all betrayal that should’ve been didn’t even exist within her soul. She wished she had guessed something was wrong because he touched her and she touched him and they were released from the spiral of pain, he had set her free.

Quicksilver eyes and a red shining pool beside his golden head, an angel dead

And there was thing called the sad little movie that was her life. Against all odds he had rescued her from drowning he had been her ship. But no one had been able to rescue him.
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