Title: I Can Still Remember

Author: Sarah

Rating: NC-17

Content: Violence, Character Death

Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me. They belong to WWF and Titan Sports. No copyright infringement intended.
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I don't know why I loved him so much, I don't know why I stayed or even put up with it. The beatings, day in, day out, nothing could please him, except perhaps beating me. He was so beautiful, so powerful like a knight in shinning armour, golden hair that cascaded over his shoulders and down his back. Deep crystal green eyes, that drew me in instantly. I can see them every time I shut my eyes, looking down at me as I lay in a pool of my own blood. Staring at me, sucking me in. Were they asking for forgiveness, or simply surveying the damage they had caused? Either way I will never forget them, for as long as I shall live, I will never forget his eyes. They will haunt me until my dying day.

His eyes, and his fists. I can feel their blows, even to this day, pounding relentlessly into my pale flesh, over and over, no relief, no break, well not until he's satisfied, until he's had enough. Until his fists hurt, fuck my body, fuck the pain I'm in, fuck it all. As long as he has the chance to vent, to release the built up torment that rages through his blood every waking moment. As long as he isn't in pain, then it's all fine? Or is it? It hurts to look upon my own body, to see the scars that forever linger not only in my mind, but also in my skin. They say time heals all wounds, I guess they never saw mine. I carry them with me where ever I go, hidden securely tucked away under my clothes. And the ones they can see, their prying eyes, well, those scars are full of lies and made up tales. Those scars are the ones that hurt the most.

We shared our lives together, the happy couple, always smiling, always laughing and always loving. They believed the lie they saw, all of them believed it. They truly thought we were the happy couple, the perfect couple. Sure we squabbled now and then, sure we had lover's tiffs, but they never knew, they never had an idea what it was like to go home with him. To go home with the man I loved and face the beatings, night after night. They only saw what he wanted them to see, what he willed them to see. I wonder if any of them ever had a clue, if they ever wondered where my scars came from, the bruises that covered my body. I guess they truly thought I was the clumsy adorable blond he said I was. They all believed the lie, if only I could have too.

They all loved him; he was just like the guy next door. Strong, handsome, always willing to help if needed, always with a quick joke and a friendly punch. He was the best friend everyone secretly wanted. He could have told a lies and they would have never of known. He was the honest one, the one you could always rely on. Yet his private life was a complete lie, and they never knew, and if they did they probably wouldn't have believed it. And I had to play along, to face them each and every day, carrying on the lie, unable to look at myself in the mirror. I was the perfect, beautiful, quiet, reserved partner that he loved and worshiped. Yet I think it was the other way around, he may have loved me, yet it was I that worshiped him. Why? I do not know.

Maybe he was something I had always wanted to be, strong, powerful, and brave. Maybe he carried the social life I always wanted, the friends, the family, everyone adored him, he was everyone's best friend. Or maybe I worshiped him because I had nothing else to look up too. No family, my friends were his, and certainly no God; because if there was a God he would have stopped the man I loved from beating me. And instead of the beatings each night we would hold each other in our arms and confess our love for one another. Maybe I worshiped him because he was my life, he was all I knew and would ever know.

I guess it doesn't really matter now, it doesn't matter what they think, what they see or feel. What is done is done and no one and nothing can change it back. Even though part of me longs with every breath I take for it to all be taken back, it can't be, and I know it's probably for the best. Best for whom though? For him or for me? He's free now, from the turmoil that raged through his blood every waking moment, free from the lies he spun, and the secrets he held within his heart. He will forever be free from the beatings he game me, from the pain he caused me, the pain he caused himself in the process. And me? In a way I'm free I guess, no more beatings, no more scars, bruises, endless nights of being yelled and screamed at. Free of the physical pain, but what price have I paid? Perhaps I would gladly take the physical pain all over again just to have him back, to stop the mental and emotional pain that wraps my body with every breath I take. I wake up in my bed, he's not there and as much as I try to convince myself he'll be back, I know he won't. I go to sleep at night dreaming of him, of his scent, his golden hair, his manly body. I'm free from the physical pain, but the emotional and mental anguish I fear will never leave me.

I remember sitting by his bed in the hospital, watching as the life support machines breathed for him. His once mighty, powerful hands seemed so pale and small in my own. The police thought I was crazy; hell so did the doctors. This man, laying here before me, used to beat me black and blue every day, punish and torture me, yet I begged them not to turn the machine off just yet. With every breath I had pleading for just one more minute with the man that I loved with all my heart. A crazy blond boy still pinning over the man that used to beat him every day. The man, that this crazy blond boy longed to be with, even in his final moments.

I stand at his grave and cry. I miss him, the fists, the anger and everything that came along with it. I would have a thousand beatings all over again just for one more minute by his side. I would live it over and over and over just to see his smile.

I killed the only thing I loved in life. He was my tormentor, my abuser, my source of pain and punishment. Yet it may seem strange but he was the only man I ever truly loved, and the only man I will ever love. He was my God, my king and my protector. I love him more than life itself.

I can still remember the day I finally fought back and killed Edge. I, Christian, killed the only thing I could ever love. And now I know I that will never be able to love again, because I love Edge more than life itself. I guess that's why it makes it so easy to kill myself. I can't face the years of pain and loneliness without him, waking up every morning without his warm body by my side. And going to bed each night as the stars shine brightly, knowing that the stars in his eyes will never shine again. It will be so easy to leave this lonely life.

For once I am dead, I will be with the man I love for all eternity.