I watch as she sits across from me, her discomfort made very clear by her pursed lips. I adjust my handcuffs, and push my glasses up my nose.

"Hello, Mr. Fischbach, my name is Kelly Albright. I work for the LA Times Newspaper, and I just wanted to ask you some questions about, ah... The events leading up to your conviction."

"The bastard deserved it," I spit as she turns on her recording device. I frown at the guard standing behind her.

She smiles anyway, "Why don't you start with how Jack was acting in the few weeks before the fair?"

My gut twists, and my glare softens. Why did she have to bring him up now? I'm not ready to talk about this yet... I thought I might be... "He was so scared... He..." I choke up, tears already brimming.

"Take your time," she murmurs, trying to soothe me. I bite my lip before continuing.

"It was just a normal day, we were walking around the city. But he thought he saw..."

~~~

"Look- there he is again," Jack pointed at the opposite side of the street that we were walking on. It was crowded, and I couldn't make out exactly where he was pointing, but I knew he wasn't making this up. Someone was following us.

"Don't worry," I squeezed his hand a little tighter. I wasn't going to let some guy ruin our day. We shopped around a bit at strip malls and little family-owned businesses for a few hours, but Jack couldn't relax. He kept looking behind us and pulling me forward quicker than usual. So after a quick and silent lunch, (mainly because all Jack could do was stare out the window nervously,) we went home. He shut all the curtains and even put the chain lock on the door.

"Babe, what's wrong?" I asked, knowing exactly what he'd say.

"He's out there, I know it. I saw him following us here."

I sighed and wrapped my arms around him, "we've never needed that chain before, and I'm sure I could take whomever that guy is."

His frown deepened, but he snuggled against me, "yeah, well, we've never been followed before."

"What did he look like?"

"Brown hair, kinda long... Uh, he was taller than us, and kinda skinny... He had a greying scruff," he breathed quickly, almost shaking in my arms.

"I'll protect you," I promised, kissing his forehead. Ever since he moved from Ireland the previous year, he'd been so wary of everything. LA may be a big city, but not much bad ever happened around me. At least, not that I noticed.

Weeks passed, and Jack slowly gained back his ease of consciousness. We went to the fair, trying to have fun after a long time of working... We played games and went on rides... He was still sort of nervous- though I did everything I could to help him relax.

But then I screwed up... I left him. Just for a second! I knew he didn't feel safe, I knew he thought someone was still following us. I knew he didn't want me to leave him alone. I left him anyway, knowing I'd only be gone a second as he waited in line for ice cream. I went to the car, thinking it was the perfect time. The fireworks were about to start, and it would be the only opportunity I'd have to get on one knee without him noticing right away. I grabbed the midnight velvet box out of the glove compartment and jogged back to him, expecting to find him eating his ice cream happily. But instead I saw him drop his cone as a bullet went into his stomach. The crowd panicked, running every which way, but I only ran toward him. I dropped to my knees and pulled him close. He looked up at me as if he was embarrassed, and touched my cheek with a shaking, bloody hand.

I screamed, endlessly it seemed, at the dying man in my arms. It was not his time, but the bullet burning in his stomach had other plans for him.

His breathing was erratic and labored, and I couldn't do anything but stare down at him, his blue eyes wide with fright. My tears dripped onto his pale skin and he started to shake, the loss of blood getting to him. I couldn't help but feel like it was all my fault. I left him alone, when I knew he didn't feel safe. I looked around, ready to chase after the coward who did this. "Stay with me," Jack begged, his fingers clutching my arm. I nodded, and relaxed on the sidewalk. "I don't want to die," he said, almost too softly for me to hear. "Kiss it all better?" He asked, using the line we always said when one of us obtained a minor injury like a burn, a paper cut or a bruise. Only this time, I couldn't kiss it better. I couldn't do anything to make it better. The ambulance could only drive so fast through city streets- especially with a fair going on.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," I whimpered, touching my lips to his cold forehead.

"It's not your fault, love," he rasped. "You didn't know."

"But I should have known!" I hissed, more to myself than at him. He was so small, so fragile. I stared at the blood pooling on his stomach and wondered how someone so tiny could hold so much inside him. I sniffed, "everything's going to be okay."

"I love you," he said, somehow getting quieter still.

"I love you too," I whispered, my voice breaking. He went limp, his eyes shut, and my heart shattered.

I squeezed his hand one last time as paramedics ran to us, a stretcher in tow. I just stared at them, tears dripping down my face, my lips set in a permanent frown. They stopped walking when they met my eyes. It's too late. You're too late, I thought. They approached me much slower and gently pried his lifeless body from my arms as I sobbed disgustingly.

"No!" I cried when they laid a sheet over him. I couldn't let it end like that.

~~~

I take a deep, shaky breath, blowing my nose on the tissue being held out to me. The jail had allowed me to keep Jack's unused ring, and I twist it now, letting it rub my finger raw.

"Go on," Kelly urges me.

I let my expressions fade, back into nonexistence. "One month later, I applied for my gun license, claiming I wanted to feel safe. But truthfully, I'd been working on tracking down Jack's murderer, and I was going to give him exactly what he deserved. I only knew what he looked like and where he frequented, as Jack told me he'd been keeping a journal. I stalked him for months. I got to know his habits and his life; I became his shadow. And on the one year anniversary of Jack's death, I broke into his house and waited for him. I sat at his kitchen table, with the gun in front of me. I knew he'd head there first. He recognized me as soon as he saw me. I stood up and held the gun to his head, asking him if he knew the torture I'd endured: burying my best friend and lover, blaming myself for not being there, wishing it had been me instead, crying night after night as the nightmares consumed me... And he fell to his knees, begging for mercy. But I didn't give it. I went behind him, kicked him on his back so he lay flat on the linoleum, and I held him down with my foot on his neck as I shot him. Again and again. I didn't care how many times, as long as he never saw another sunrise."

"Do you regret it?"

"Not for a second. Some might call me cold for it- but he took my life from me first."

"How do you think Jack would feel?"

"What are you, my psychologist?" I joke darkly, sniffing. "I think he'd understand. He'd have done the same if it had been me."

I go back to my cell, escorted by two guards. "Pretty impressive crocodile tears, for a murderer," one mutters.

The other nods as he locks my door behind me. "What can you expect from a man on death row?" They disappear down the hall, chatting about my dying day as if it were a long awaited Christmas. I look at myself in the mirror, the red rims of my eyes burning with pain. It all comes rushing back to me, the entire year after Jack's death. Just like it does everyday. I lay on my stiff bed and cover my face, turning to the wall. I'm seen as a beast, a brutal, unfeeling thing. But I do feel. I feel all the pain of losing Jack over and over every night. All I have left of him is a memory, the memory of his big eyes and his dying breaths.

I may have killed a man, but I'm not a monster, I'm just a baby.