Without You, There is No Point in Surviving

Chapter 1 In the Flames

Sometimes when she was bored... she would stare at the flames. They felt so calming, comforting. Staring at the embers made the cold world disappear. She looked at the flames when her mother yelled at her for being different, when her brother was cruel, when her father left for the war and never returned. Whenever Albert was abusive to her, when her business fell under, and she was all alone. Something about the flames gave her strength. She never imagined dying by them.

They we're spinning, spinning, the click of their shoes on the stone where they stepped. She felt so happy staring into those onyx eyes. She knew they would be the death of her, somehow, she always knew. Others may think her strange, feeling such joy in her hour of doom. She couldn't help it, she loved him so much that it hurt. It hurt her heart more than any hardship she's faced in the past. She felt pain now, knowing that she was going to die before getting her life with him.

The flames were getting closer.

She was fully aware. His eyes were lying to her. He called her "my love" minutes ago but he didn't mean it. She's not the only one lying tonight. His eyes flashed to hatred, a deep burning. Looking into them made her eyes well with tears. She loosened her grip on his shoulder, ready to let go.

How pitifully unfair. Dying by the one you love. Is that what her life as worked its way up to?

"Really living it!" he shouts in rage.

He positioned his hand, ready to sling her into the oven. At the last second, she threw her weight at his right, landing on the floor instead of in the flames. He growled at her, bending down to pick her up. She rolled out of the way, the heel of her boot colliding with his shoulder, knocking him backwards onto his arse. She took the opportunity to stand up, backing herself into the corner.

She froze. Unsure of what she was doing. She already gave up. Why was she fighting him? She knew, knew that she couldn't win. He was back on his feet already. Glaring knives into her. As sharp as the razor he pulled out. With the sound of a click, a silver light shown in the dark.

He turned on the charade again, approaching her calmly. "Come here Mrs. Lovett." He soothed. She wasn't buying it. She shook her head like a scared little girl and inched away from him. He lunged at her, grabbing her arm, slamming her against the wall. She dug her nails into his wrist. The razor fell to the ground. He didn't leave her to retrieve the thing. They both knew he could kill her without it.

He placed his hands around her throat. Squeezing the life out of her. She couldn't breathe, tears were streaming down her face onto his hands.

"Please," she choked out. "don't."

"Oh, why shouldn't I kill you Mrs. Lovett? Why!?" he spat in her face.

"I . . ."

"Is it because you love me? Is that why? You think just because you confess to me, I'll fall head over heels for you. Is that it?"

"I'm sorry. . ." Tears started streaming down her face. His grip loosened. She searched his eyes; the anger drained from them a small bit.

"Why shouldn't I kill you? Tell me why!" He shouts, slamming her into the wall.

"I'm the only one that helped you." She squeaked out. she gripped his wrist harder making him wince. "Please . . . just give me a chance . . . to explain."

By some odd miracle he listened and loosened his grip on her neck.

She kneed him in the groin, trying to make a run for the door. He threw his arms around her waist, tackling her to the floor. The blood from the dead seeping onto her dress. They wrestled in the blood on the stones. He was too strong for her. she barely managed to grab the razor before he had her pinned to the ground, hands reaching for her throat again. She held the razor to his own.