My crime is you.

I am a criminal.

There’s a story hidden deep within my memories… and it’s buried at the core of my very being because it hurts so much.

Today is the 8th anniversary.

-

To others (even my family), I was a downright rebel and often a pain in the ass. I stole from a candy store at age 5, and did drugs and nicotine when I was 14 (and quitted after I couldn’t stand the aftertaste). At 15, I was expelled from school because I argued with the teachers and broke the principal’s window when I threw a textbook at it. My parents gave up on me after that, and life in general was without meaning. I worked as a store assistant in a food stall once, but I ended up stepping ever so frequently on the toes of my employer that he was forced to sack me. It simply wasn’t in my character to take orders from anyone, and after some twists and turns, I ended up being my own boss in a small fashion boutique. I was quite successful, and so much so that it seemed like the external forces of good fortune was smiling down at me constantly with their pretty faces. Yes, that was my life.

She was different. We were polar opposites of each other, like night and day. I believed I was the night of the union, and she was the day. She was the apple of everyone’s eye as much as I was their bane of existence, and the proud daughter of her family (much unlike me). Her grades in school were excellent, and she was doing her Masters degree when I first met her. She was fit for the stage, where the bright lights would shine down on her; I was fit for the backstage crew - dressed in black behind the scenes - maneuvering the spotlights to shine her best.

It’s funny, really, why we were attracted to each other. My first look at her took my breath away in an instant - and a second, my heart. I helplessly fell downwards into the spiral of love, drowned by her bottomless blue eyes and her soft voice as she spoke to me about a dress she wanted. Easily, I understood why she was so well-liked. She was like the princess of a country, loved by her people for her kindness and beauty. I was like a common peasant, admiring her from afar. Yet, I never really understood why this princess chose to come down from her castle to greet a peasant like me.

Like other couples, we dated after we knew each other for a while. Movies, dinner and even moonlight swims at a nearby lake were some activities we did together, but we never slept over as each other’s places. Nevertheless, she was perfect, immaculate in my eyes. Sometimes, when we met, I would bring her a new dress from my store to try on, just to see how beautiful she would look in them. When she had to study for the exams, I would leave her on her own, because I knew how distracting love could be. She understood. She always knew what my intentions were.

One day… I realized what everything was – ethereal.

My instincts had told me something strange was going on. We were still polar opposites; but now, her aloofness matched my passion, and her masks of perfectness contrasted against my demands of trueness. She was still adored by many and made her parents proud, but she was no longer the perfect apple. The bright lights that shone on her showed me her flaws when her façade cracked under the constant pressure of being the princess. Try as I might, I could not help her.

This coarse street ruffian should never have touched the princess.

Bit by bit, day became night. What was once beaming to the world became dull and dark as time passed. I saw her brave front falter a little more every day, as her flame extinguishes within the walls she built around herself. I had an inkling of what had caused this.

Rejection.

My parents had given up on me, a long time ago. What I did now matters not to them.
But she was different. She loved her parents – and she loved me. Torn apart between us because of their disapproval of such a relationship, she was fighting a losing battle.

I didn’t want to leave her. “I love you forever,” she said.

A few more days, I promised myself. I would try to save her.

I held back.

Never did I know that it was all it took for her to break. Her brother shunned her. Her parents slapped her, threatening to send her overseas for education if she continued seeing me.

A few days were all it took.

I chased after her, fearful of what would happen if she were to reach her destination.

In her hands she clutched tightly to a kitchen knife, running away from my grasp. She was deranged. She was aiming to kill her parents... The very same parents whom she had talked lovingly to me about; a father who brought her to sail the world’s wonders, and a mother who was kindly in every way if not stubborn. She mustn’t do it, not to her parents. Not to anyone.

She must not.

I caught up with her, and we struggled. I tried to pin her down, and she accidentally slashed me with her knife. It was a blur. Everything was a blur. A mess. I didn’t know what had happened, but…

Then I really missed what really did exist when I held your throat so tight.

…she stopped moving.