I'd Kill For You

What's Wrong? (With Me)

I did a lot of things for love. Or perhaps it was out of desperation? A desperate need to be loved, and to be assured I wouldn't spend the rest of my life alone. Who knows at this point? I didn't. All I knew at the time was I fell in love with the fascinating foreigner I met at the bar that night, five years ago.

Daniel wasn't close to his family, he had no relationship with them at all. His parents divorced when he was six; he never saw his father again after that, and his mother married again shortly after. Once she did, Daniel was the last thing on her mind. All she wanted was a fresh start, a new life which Daniel just wasn't a part of.

There was an immediate connection between us; my relationship with my family wasn't the best either and I envied him for being able to cut ties with them and travel the world as he pleased. He was fairly rich, so he could afford to travel all across the world. I couldn't understand what he did though, something about freelancing at different companies and helping on the business side of things. I assumed it meant he was very smart.

He was captivating. He was funny. He lived the life I always wanted, which made me want to be a part of it. But most important of all, he loved me back.

We got married a month after we met. I packed my bags and told my parents I was leaving. They didn't even try to stop their nineteen-year-old daughter. Maybe they didn't think I was serious, or they just thought I would be back after a few weeks. Afterwards, I would always wonder if they ever tried to search for me. If I tried, I could get in contact with them, I just didn't.

Daniel brought me back with him to America, and I thought it would be the start of a new, happier life, just like I always dreamed. It would be like my wildest dreams; my very own prince charming, sweeping me off my feet and bringing me along in his magical adventures.

Ha.

"I'm back." he called out, exhaustion evident in his tone. I didn't bother with a response, or even turning around to face him. I continued setting the table, preparing dinner as I had been before he arrived.

I didn't need to turn around to know he had walked up behind me. Only a few seconds after he announced his arrival, arms wrapped around my waist and I felt warm lips press against my neck.

It was sweet. It made me happy. It's something he's been doing every day for the past five years, and it meant a lot to me. But after a while, it had gotten old.

Nevertheless, I smiled at him and giggled.

"How was work?" I tried to sound genuine, despite feeling like a phone operator who repeated the same line countless times.

He sighed tiredly as he always did. "Stressful. I don't want to talk about it."

He never did. "How's Jerry?"

"Fine."

"Still a handful?"

"You know he is." he smirked.

I hummed. "Did you like the lunch I made you?"