blue | a collection of tronnor oneshots

of loving connor

Prompt: this prompt has been requested by bathtub15 (I hope you like it and sorry for the wait)

Connor had always loved making people happy and the only thing he loved more than making people happy was me, and the only thing he loved more than me was alcohol.

Whiskey, Tequila, Vodka, Rum, anything with a bitter taste and powerful kick. Our fridge would be stocked and he'd always be sneaking off for more.

Anytime I wasn't around to stop him he was there, downing multiple things at once. While I was taking a bath, while I was out buying groceries, while I'm was visiting friends and family.

He knew I hated it, and when I told him to stop, he started hating me.

Its a horrible thing really, someone important to you hating you. You feel wrong, you feel dirty, you feel invalid and unacceptable. That's how I felt, what I thought, what I was drowning in.

That is, until my sister Sage witnessed one of the several times he'd hit me.

It was a Saturday and we were going out to lunch. I was taking out a few of Connors beers to make room for the roast I was preparing for later that night, when he got angry. He had been sleeping away the night befores hangover in a bed I no longer slept in when he approached me. He told me that nothing was more important than his bottles, not my roast, not human needs like eating, and certainly not me. And he made that especially clear in that moment with his fist and brutal words.

Sage walked in when she heard the yelling, just in time to see his knuckles connect with my jaw.

"Troye!" She had screamed and I had ran to her, holding her back from lounging into a fight she wouldn't of won. I dragged her out and we continued our plans for lunch, with her questioning me with a tear soaked face the whole time. She begged, pleaded with me to leave Connor.

"He's not right in the head, the Connor we knew is gone!" She had said and at one point I started crying too. I told her not to tell anyone, she said okay.

Sunday game nights at mom's became tense and soon we could barely look at each other as Connor wrapped his arm around my waist on the only night of the week he'd be sober.

I was blind, I was convinced he still loved me, that it was just a mid-life crisis. I was ignoring my sisters warnings and my suspicious friends. I was desperate, trying to hold on and salvage a love that couldn't be saved. And the last straw was a deadly one.

Most people who go through abusive relationships end things when family get involved, or friends tell them to leave, or sometimes even when finding another lover. But not for me. I was stubborn and leaving him took me and me only. I had to be convinced it was what was right and I had to do the convincing as well.

We were driving back from a Sunday night dinner when he stopped at a bar, Connor went in for 'only a second' and left me in the car for three hours. When he came stumbling out he was wasted and stunk of cologne and cigarette smoke.

He wouldn't let me drive, told me he wasn't incapable of something so simple, to not treat him like a child. I let him drive even though I knew the risk, I just didn't want him to hit me anymore than he was going to later that night. But he never got the chance.

A familiar bridge became ten times more significant when suddenly we were flying off of it. The last thing I saw was Connors terrified face and the gushing of water.

I woke up in a hospital bed and news of my husbands death. I didn't cry like I thought I would and at first I felt bad for not feeling the pain that usually accompanied a loved ones death.

That's when I realized he was no longer a loved one at that point, but a burden. A nasty scar, a ball and chain dragging me deeper and deeper. And everyone had become aware, my mothers relieved face was more than enough to prove that.

That's how I've ended up here, in the same apartment, with the same fridge that contain the same bottles, and a nasty scar on my arm. I don't drink, I don't even touch the things when opening the door for food, but I can't bring myself to move them either.

Not only as a reminder of him, my first and only love, but to remind me of what a simple substance can do to a wonderful human.

It destroyed him, my precious boy, and now I know the consequences of loving to hard and the harshness of life.

But I'm happy, for the first time in months, and all it took to wake me up from the horrible nightmare of loving Connor was a bottle of liquor and a familiar bridge.

Also, I got a new bed.

a/n

I also got a new bed and it's gr8

also 2.0 I wrote a poem for English and got a 190/200 who wants to read it??