Sitting here thinking about Blorbo raised to be a killer, trained to be your guard in the shadows, or someone else’s dog and you were just there. Unwittingly, or knowingly. A royal heir, a mobster’s heir, a business heir, maybe just the favored whore.
Whatever.
You know what they do, and yeah you fell in love anyway. What were you gonna do, there was no other way this was going to go.
And yeah you shouldn’t have, and yeah they maybe should’ve killed you when you sorted it out, but what were they gonna do, there was no other way this was going to go.
And after you end up targeted, or hung to dry as a patsy, and they ended up having to go after you, there was no other way it was going to go.
You were going to run, and they were going to find you, there was no other way it was going to go.
It’s the words you kept telling yourselves.
The lament.
The fear.
The certainty.
When they turn their gun on their partner, a corpse before the betrayal is even processed, and step toward you, throwing away all they had and all they knew…
It was a promise.
Their absolute devotion was always toward you, no other master, no matter what else anyone else thought.
There was no other way it was going to go.