He broke my heart.

His addiction was too strong.

It all went downhill when his dad passed. His best friend, his hero. He then realized what a few drinks could do for him: make him forget the pain.
It was eight months ago when I accepted I had to give up on him. All the months spent in rehab weren’t helping him because he wouldn’t let it. I still found a way to love him even though he was a different man. But it was a painful kind of love, one that you don’t fight for.

It’s a dark, foggy night and I’m driving aimlessly with the windows rolled down, slowly breathing in the cool air. It’s refreshing. For a slight moment I forget about eight months ago, I feel okay. Is this a dream?
I pass CVS and realize I forgot to get that thing. I can’t cross the median and I also don’t feel like driving a mile to make a u-turn. Parking across the street at Wawa seems to be the best idea. It’s 12 am, but whatever. Anything to keep me busy.
I park, step out of my car, and get an eerie feeling. It’s just one of those nights. There’s light from Wawa and CVS, but the rest of the world: darkness. The fog is so thick, blocking out any noise the night could make. Complete and utter silence. I look around and see only three other cars parked and not one car on the road. I don’t like this feeling. But whatever, I really need that thing from CVS. I sprint there.
On the way back, my heart’s beating fast and I start speed walking. I’m getting scared even though, in the back of my head, I know nothing will happen. Every ten seconds I look around me frantically. My breathing is getting faster and my steps much quicker. When I’m just ten feet from my car, I’m startled by a beaten up, old Honda speeding up behind me. My stomach drops. I can’t get in my car. My door’s locked. I’m shaking uncontrollably, I’m freaking out too much. I’m struggling to find my keys in my messy purse. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m fine.
Then a hand is over my mouth. And I’m in a headlock. It’s all happening so quick. I don’t know what’s going on. My eyes widen, I can’t breath. The man is dragging me on the ground away from my car. I feel cold metal touch my head while I’m still being dragged. I struggle to scream, but nothing comes out. I need someone to hear me. All of a sudden the man is pushed down hard by a cop, sending his gun flying. He stays down. The cop grabs me and we sprint to inside Wawa. When we’re inside I’m in shock and still shaking, eyes still wide. The cop looks at me.
“It’s going to be okay sweetie. I’m calling the station. There’s others coming,” the cop tries to calm me down.
Then I’m screaming. The walls of Wawa were all made of glass, but now every one is shattered. The man and his gun are back. He shot every side of the place in seconds. Now all I see is the blackness of the night surrounding me. The cop holds me behind him.
“Put the gun down and your hands up. NOW!” He shouts into space while looking around us.
Then his hands let go of me and he slowly falls onto the ground gasping for air, a look of horror on his face. There’s a bullet through his chest.
I’m alone and screaming in agony and I run to the doorway; the only place with walls still standing. It’s quiet. I don’t know where the man went. Fear is blocking my thoughts. I don’t know what to do now.
The silence is broken by a laugh. A horrifyingly devious laugh. The door to my left is kicked open and the man is standing outside pointing the gun at me. He looks like a perfectly normal, clean cut man but his expression is frightening. A huge smile is spread across his face. His eyes are crazy. I’m weak. I rest my back against the wall and slowly slide down until I’m sitting. I begin to quietly cry while the man is still standing there staring at me. I stare forward and whisper through my tears,
“Please don’t kill me.”

He laughs again. Then, to my surprise, he lowers his gun.
We somehow end up leaving the scene and we are driving back to my house in my car. He is staying the night because he asked to and I’d rather that than die. I try to be nice because I’m nervous that if I say the wrong thing, I could anger him again. But he is extremely nice back now. I don’t believe he is the same person who just tried to kill me.
We get back to my house and go to sleep. Well, he goes to sleep at least. I don’t trust him. I don’t even know this man.
Months pass and the man is still staying at my house every night. I never ask why he needs a place to stay. I never bring up that night again. I make myself believe I met him long after that night happened because now he’s so kind and caring. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. He starts to tell me he loves me before we go to bed every night. And eventually, I start to say it back.
But then I remember something terrible, something that could ruin me: he killed a person. Once I realize that, I start to sleep less. I can hardly eat. I’m constantly sick to my stomach because I see on the news every single day that they’re still looking for the murderer of the cop. I don’t know what to do; do I turn him in or do I leave the past in the past?
I finally decide I could never do that to him. But the guilt hits me hard. For the second time in only my twenty four years of living, I experience the painful kind of love. One day the man looks at me with sadness in his eyes. I ask him what’s wrong.
“It hurts me that I’m hurting you,” he responds softly.
That night I woke up, looked next to me, and the man wasn’t there. I looked at my phone on the nightstand and there was a text from the man: “I’m sorry.”
It turns out he turned himself in.
I never heard from him again.
He broke my heart.