The Forever Song- love and betrayal

A story of love and revenge, drug deals and lies, and a love doomed to disaster


1. chapter one

I thought I could trust her. I really did. She’d seemed so kind and genuine that even now, even knowing what she’s done, I can’t really believe it was her. Even with the red that now stains my hands, her blood, covering my arms, my soul, I still don’t believe it. I don’t think I’ll ever believe it. That she’s dead. That she tried to kill me. That I killed her. I don’t think the reality will ever really sink in.

I’d never dreamt of this. But, then again, I’d not really dreamt of much at all back then. There was nothing worth dreaming about. Freedom, maybe, that might have featured at some point. Freedom always features in my dreams, even twenty years on I still dream about being free. Because when you’ve done, when you’ve seen, what I have, there is no escaping. There is no freedom.

No escape from the nightmares. No escape from the memories. No escape from what I did. I’m trapped in the world that is my past. The world that I left behind to make my present. The world, it seems, I only thought I left behind.

It’s just another clichéd story about a family in debt, not being able to cope, a parent leaving. It happens, its nothing strange, nothing unusual. But I was fifteen. I was the oldest, the protector. I had to do something. I was sure I would do anything, even bad things. And that’s just what I did.

The only thing that convinced me to keep doing it day to day, to keep risking everything, was the look in my mother’s eyes every time a new bill fell through the door. The way she looked at my sister with such guilt and remorse. The way she looked at me with so much pride, even if what I was doing was immoral. Illegal.

And then I gave it all up. I gave everything up because I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was too far in, too involved for it to just be about helping my family now. It was an obsession. I had to know more. I had to do more. I wanted to be involved with the production, the shipping, the… the smuggling.

I wanted to know how it worked. It was more than just curiosity that kept me involved. It was more than the need to support my family. I was interested and I knew that was bad. So I got out. I sold out. I told the police everything I knew about the drug ring in exchange for my own freedom and a new life under Witness Protection.

I should’ve known I wouldn’t be safe.

I do now. I knew as soon as she led me down that alley. But I should’ve guessed before that. She came from the same town as me. She lived in the same area as the leader. She had the same southern twang to her accent he did. I notice all of that now and I wonder how I missed it.

I fall to my knees and I can’t help but notice that it’s raining. How polite of the weather, cleaning away the blood from the street, taking with it the last dregs of her life. There’s so much water on my face now I can’t tell if I’m really crying or if it’s just rain that runs down my cheeks.

I suppose I’m crying. I must be, I’m not heartless. Yet I don’t know if the tears are of guilt and remorse or if I’m mourning the death of the woman I love. I hope it’s at least partially guilt, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t feel guilty, but I don’t know if I want to mourn her. I don’t know if she deserves it after what she did. I don’t know if she shouldn’t have succeeded. I have ruined lives. Maybe, just maybe, if she’d managed to kill me it would’ve been better, I might’ve paid for my sins.

Ha, I think bitterly, nothing I ever do will pay for what I’ve done.

I met her two years ago. Maybe that’s why I felt safe around her, because it had been so long and nothing bad had happened. I was so stupid. I laugh at myself now, I had always made sure no one paid me any attention so why didn’t I notice something was off when this new, incredibly gorgeous, worker only paid any attention to me. There were better looking guys, with more expensive clothes, flashier cars and yet she only ever wanted to talk to me. I built up a trust in her I hadn’t experienced for years and I became drunk on the joy that brought me. I stopped looking, stopped noticing.

The first time I took her out I was terrified. I had barely spoken to anyone in years, let alone taken someone on a date. But she had made me feel special so I ignored anything that connected her to my old life. I passed it all off as coincidence. I was having fun with her. I felt as if I could rule the world. I loved her. But she didn’t love me back and I didn’t know it.

That might be what hurts the most, in this moment. To know that I loved, no, I love her and she doesn’t love me back. To know that she never did. It’s not that she stabbed me in the back, literally, it’s that she betrayed me. She betrayed my trust in the worst possible way. She made me love her and then she cut me down. And that’s not even the worst part.

She did it all and she just didn’t care. She felt nothing. For two years she pretended and faked everything. She saw me fall head over heals in love with her and then when she drew her blade I saw no remorse in her eyes. I didn’t want to kill her. I think… I think I was happy to die because what she’s done just hurts that much. I think I still am.

I put her father in prison. She was his daughter and I didn’t realise. She was his daughter and she was out for revenge. She wanted my blood. Not just that, she wanted to take my life like I had taken her father’s. I wonder if she took over smuggling drugs after her father was locked up or if she just became hell bent on revenge. I’ll never know. She can’t tell me now and I don’t want to go back to who I was before just to find out.

I don’t know what to do now. Everything I thought was true and real has been torn away from me and now I’m just lost, alone, abandoned. There’s just one word running through my mind, louder than all my thoughts of regret and misery. Faster than all my once happy memories becoming sour and tainted. There is just one word, just one gut instinct.


So that’s what I do. I run away from the body. I run away from the memories. I run away from the feelings. I run and I start all over again. New name, new history, new life. I run from the betrayal, all the while knowing that I can’t hide forever and that someday, maybe soon, maybe not until I’m lying on my death bed, I’ll have to face what I’ve done. I’ll have to face everything I’ve done and everything that’s been done to me.

That thought, that knowledge, it keeps me awake at night. It’s the only thing I can’t run from.

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