AN: I have no excuse for this. An angst-ridden look at a LoVe future.
She's sitting on the edge of the bathtub, crying, after another one of their fights. They've been happening more and more lately and she's just so tired. Tired of not trusting him, tired of him not trusting her. Just tired.
He wanders in and sits next to her, and she stares at their reflections in the mirror. Too jaded for each other, too broken for anyone else. A grown woman stares back at her through the glass but she feels like a lost little girl.
He says maybe they should just get married. Make their descent into hell official. He doesn't laugh because it's not a joke. And it's not a proposal. Not a real one anyway. It's hopeless and floundering. The last option open to them. Can't trust each other, can't love anyone else, can't be alone. She's tried to leave so many times and so has he, but they always come back (cross continents to find each other and they'll never get far enough away).
He is broken in her image and she in his. They blame each other, and their lives, and their families, and their town. But at the end of the day it's impossible to know who threw the first punch, who landed the first hit. And it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that they've been laid out. Crushed, and bleeding into each other's wounds until they're all mixed up and they can't tell where she ends and he begins.
At the end of the day the only blood spilled is theirs and the only lives ruined are theirs and it's no epic romance, just epic tragedy (and what in their shared past has ever indicated that epic could be anything but tragic?).
So she says okay. And she laughs. A harsh, joyless laugh that tears at her throat, and she wonders why it has to be so hard.