My Romeo

Love. It's something everyone's always wondered about. Whether it's a chemical imbalance in the brain or something with a little more meaning. Personally, I beleive the first, but that doesn't make it feel any less complicated. Especially when you fall in love with a murderer.
Yes, it's true. I love him. I've always loved him. Ever since that first day we met. At the library. I know, it's not a likely place to meet a killer, but it's what happened. He had never killed anyone at that point. But I did know a few things: he was the sweetest, most thoughtful man I had ever met. He was an English major, a poet. He was reading Romeo and Juliet that day, for what he said was the millionth time. So was I. And I must admit, he looked very attractive in his white Screeching Weasel t-shirt and faded blue jeans, with that wavy brown hair and those peircing blue eyes. He was just beautiful. Perfect, even. And the best part? He thought the same of me.
He and I exchanged phone numbers, and from then on, we talked every day, countless times. A week later, we were on our first date. I'll admit, I was unbeleiveably smitten with this man, and when he brought me a rose at my door and took me out to dinner, following it up with coffee at a nice, quiet little cafe down the street, I couldn't help but love him. I felt like a lost puppy, clinging on to the first kind person I laid eyes on. I called him my Romeo, and I was his Juliet. My freinds all said I was as lovestricken as they'd ever seen me. Of course, they never knew where this all would lead me in a few years' time. But I'll get to that later.
We were engaged two years later, and happy as we could ever be. We're still not married, but we've thrown that idea out of the window. Sometimes we even have to hide our engagement rings now. We can't even use our real names anymore. It was wonderful then. Perfect.
But one day, it all changed. I remember, that was the start of my musical phase. I loved writing acoustic peices and performing them at various small venues. My favorite was, of course, that sweet little cafe where my first date with him took place. And as I walked into the door of our apartment after an amazing night of playing music, I saw the blood on his hands, that body on the floor, the horrified look in his blue eyes when they met my green ones, and panic took over. "I - I'm sorry," he said. "But she killed him. I - I couldn't let her kill him." I stared from him to the body on the floor, fear gripping me tighter and tighter. I knew that woman. She was his freind's ex-girlfreind. When she had broken up with his freind, he'd commited suicide. But I didn't care about that then. My fiance` had just commited murder.
So, like any person with common sense, I ran. Out the door, down towards my car, but I felt his hand grip my wrist before I arrived there. The hand that before had been so caring and gentle, but now felt to me a killer's hand. I felt the woman's blood on my wrist as he held it. There were tears of fear and hurt in my eyes. To this day, I remember the exact words he said to me.
"Please," he said, mentioning the name I used to have. "Juliet. My angel, please. I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry." Through my own tears, I could see his flowing down as well. I kept thinking, "This is the face of a killer? This is a murderer? My perfect, wonderful fiance`? The one who wrote me poetry dedicated to his love of me? Who took care of me that time I caught pneumonia? Who held my hand at my mother's funeral? Who gave me the diamond ring residing on my finger at this very moment? He could never. Oh, please, no." But he could. And he had. And this is where my common sense ended.
"You need to leave," I said to him. "You have to get out of here. Please, they're going to send you to prison."
"I know," he said to me. "And if you don't go to them now, they'll send you too." And then he let go of my wrist, and I realized the true extent of his love. He was willing to go to jail so I wouldn't have to. He loved me so much.
"If I go now, they'll think I helped you." It was a lie, of course. I could very easily prove I hadn't been there at the time of the woman's death. I had witnesses. In reality, I simply wanted a reason to be with him. "We need to leave."
"You forgive me?" he asked in disbeleif.
"We'll see about that," I said. "But now we're in this boat together. We need to go."
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too," I answered after a moment of hesitation, touching his cheek and kissing his perfect lips.
That was the night that changed my life forever.
We ran into the apartment and packed some things together, changing our clothes and cleaning the blood off of our hands. Within twenty minutes, he and I were out of the door and driving to a new life.
That was four months ago. Yes, we have been running for four months. Now we're sitting in a beat up old stolen car, and he's asleep as I keep watch. My perfect fiance`. I look at the ring on my left hand and sigh. When I accepted this ring, I thought we'd be together forever, living a dream, but at the moment, I feel like I'm dying. Dying in a nightmare. There have been times when I was forced to take this ring off, and times when I took it off for myself. I've lost count of how many times I've ended it, but come back after cooling down. I know it's wrong, and I'm sorry for the woman's family, but like I said, love is complicated. Ours a bit more so than others'.
"Hey, sweetie," I hear him say with a yawn. "Are you alright?"
No. I'm not alright. I'm horrible. We've been living in stolen cars and worse for four months. We're felons. You killed an innocent girl, guilty only of having someone be in love with her. I can't even use your real name anymore, and here you are asking if I'm alright? No. I'm not alright. But I won't tell you that. "I'm fine," I say half-heartedly.
"Why are you still here?" he asks, and I look at him for a moment.
"I don't know," I say. "I should have left you by now. I should never have come with you."
"I know. I'm really sorry," he says for the hundredth time, also mentioning my name. My real one. "I should never have gotten you into this."
"I got me into this," I tell him and sigh. "I love you."
"I love you so much." He kisses me gently, but I pull him closer as he pulls away, pressing our bodies together in a spurt of passion I haven't felt in a long time. I'm pulled onto his lap, held gently by his smooth, perfect hands, sending shivers hown my spine as they glide down my back. I pull away though, moving back to my own seat in the car. A smirk plays on my lover's face. "O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" A Shakespearian quote. From our favorite play, no less. I decide to play along.
"What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?" I ask innocently, knowing the balcony scene by heart.
"I'm horny," he says, breaking his character and moving towards me to kiss me again.
I laugh and oblige. "Well we need to move now. We're nearly out of gas, and we can't stay still too long."
He sighs. "Mood wrecker," he mutters, making me smile. He gets out of the car, and I follow him. We've lost all of our clothes now. Actually, we've lost everything. We only have eachother. Well, eachother and a stolen gun, but that's beside the point. Sometimes I want more, but in my heart, I know that's all we need.
And maybe to not be chased by the police, but you can't have everything, right?
Romeo takes my hand in his and starts to walk. "Where are we going now?" I ask.
"I don't know. I guess we need another car," he says. We continue to walk down the street, the midnight moonlight shining down on us. I feel him let go of my hand, sliding his arm around my waist. I lean into him, and he whispers, "Can we slow down, Juliet?"
"Hm?"
"Can we slow down? Just for tonight, can we just walk together and be happy like any normal couple?"
I look up at him. "You know what? I'd like that."
I don't know how long we walked that way, but it was beautiful, and I do know it was still dark out when we heard that classic line.
"FBI! Freeze!" Turning, we saw a few men behind us with guns pointed to us. They've found us! But do you really think we were going to listen to them? After all this time running? Oh, hell no. My Romeo switched to do-or-die mode, pulling out the stolen handgun and pulling me away with the other hand, but stopping once he saw that there were people in the other direction as well. "Drop your weapon!" they yell, and I can see something click in his head. He starts running again, holding the gun up, ready to shoot. But a loud bang fires before his finger pulls the trigger, and my Romeo falls to the ground.
"No!" I scream, as if the word could stop Death from coming if yelled loud enough. I roll my fiance` over, seeing the cold, distant, dead look in his open eyes, and by instinct grab the gun.
"Put the weapon down, Miss. Put it down!"
"You killed him!" I yell at the first man, whose trigger had been pulled, pointing my own weapon towards him.
"Put your weapon down!" he yelled.
"No," I say, in the quietest, most angry way possible. And with that, I turn the gun on myself. "I'll see you soon, my Romeo," I whisper, before lodging a bullet securely in my chest. It hurt, I'll admit, but to be with him, it was worth it. I feel myself falling over the still warm body of my fiance`, and the last thing I think of before I die are the final words of my favorite play:

A glooming peace this morning with it brings;
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.