Gut wrenching

The way she was standing there, on the pier, gave her an ethereal glow that he simply loved. The crown upon her head was actually the moon behind her, just peeking over her, outlining her lovely golden locks.
 
 The sea spread out past the pier, bringing the sounds of rippling water. 
 
 He loved her so. 
 
 And this was devastating.
 
 She had brought him here. He had had high hopes for this evening, only to be led here by the hand, and in the sweetest of voices and tone told that she no longer wanted to see him.
 
 He had sunk to his knees. Why? What had he done? What HADN’T he done? How could he fix this?
 
 She simply replied that there was no fault on his part. She simply didn’t have the proper feelings for him to continue in this relationship.
 
 She moved, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, telling him in time he’ll feel better about things, things will be clearer and he’ll understand. He’ll move on, find the right woman for himself.
 
 Those words were crushing. Salt in an already open and exposed wound.
 
 He was biting back his tears.
 
 He was biting back his anger.
 
 She started walking off. Back down the pier, slowly.
 
 No, he couldn’t let things go like this. 
 
 He found himself moving, but it was like watching an old fashioned film reel. He was not in control.
 
 He grabbed her. He shook her. 
 
 She cried. He was hurting her.
 
 She screamed.
 
 His hand moved to silence her. 
 
 He had used too much strength against her small frame as she struggled against him.
 
 Crack.
 
 It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t ominous. But the sound could be felt in his entire being.
 
 She went limp, her head lolling about on its broken neck.
 
 Oh, god, what have I done?
 
 Panic raced through him, but oddly enough, so did something else. Pride? A feeling of being justified?
 
 There was an eerie calm, just him and the sounds of the sea, the moon overhead, the crown of her hair falling around her.
 
 He lifted her body and tossed it over the pier, listening to the greedy sea wrap her up in its embrace.
 
 Yes, she would resurface. Of course he would be the prime suspect.
 
 No worries. He could liquidate his assets now and be gone in a few hours.
 
 And so began the mystery of the pretty dead blond on the shore.

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