Four weeks. That's all. Just four more weeks. I told myself while looking around the house that I was praying to God my girl would help me make a home.
Three Months Later
It'd been three months. Three fucking months. Three months since I've seen Evangeline, since I've awoken with her head on my chest, sometimes drooling a little from her deep slumber. Three months since we've showered together while she threatens my balls if I didn't stop fondling her (though she never meant it), since she's cleaned up my bloody messes and stitched up my skin after a particularly brutal fight. Everyday seemed to drag on as I continued on my downward spiral to having a pathetically meaningless life - just like it was before she came along.
I had convinced myself that she had moved on and would never take me back, but hell would freeze over before I gave up. She was mine. She would always be mine and nothing was going to fucking change that. Ever.