My Love will Never Die..

Flames

A bubble.

The more strength it gets, the more it expands. And then it peaks...And then pop.

It bursts, leaving nothing but hollowness.

Rage was like a Bubble. It increased and increased, more it increased, more aggressive it got. This aggressiveness was like a fuel, driving Chloe to the magnet of her anger. It bubbled and simmered in her veins, blooming like a mushroom.

She loved him and he was leaving.

She loved him..

And he was leaving.

He was leaving her.

Again.

He was leaving.

Her mind was a victim of this cyclone of thoughts whirling and eating her alive. She didn't remember her drive to Sunset Boulevard, she didn't remember parking her car and she didn't remember shoving the poor guard aside and rushing inside or riding the open elevator. Her mind spiralling with the only thought, a dangerous one.

He was leaving.

The anger peaked and peaked, molten magma destroying her sense of thoughts, wreaking havoc to her soul. Flashes of a chirpy Lucifer striding around the precinct with the balloon breasted 'Mrs Morningstar' passed through her mind, adding fuel to the blasting fire, rekindling a long died aching flame.

Again.

Chloe clenched her fist, nails digging into her palms drawing crescent shaped blood out, in a futile attempt to keep her grounded, not to yell then and there. The elevator ride was excruciating. It was only a week ago she came to this penthouse to confess her love, with the hope that he would accept her. The hope was shattered and crumpled and then burnt into pieces, until nothing but ash remained. She thought what they had, was special. She thought that maybe the Devil cared for her and she thought that maybe she was worthy enough for his love. Clearly it had been bullshit. Successfully poking a finger to her mistake, pointing out that she had been wrong all along.

How much of their relationship had changed over the years.

First she found him repulsive, then she saw the real man behind his mask of indifference and arrogance; they became partners; they became friends, best friends. Then she fell for him and he left. And then she tried to move on but he was still there as an anchor. And after everything they went through, when they were finally getting somewhere, the world turned upside down. It never turned straight again. And now...

They were back to square one. With him leaving.

What had become of them?

The elevator dinged open and she stifled a gasp.

Crossing the threshold she looked around the penthouse. And pop..

Just like that her anger burst, evaporating in an instant leaving behind a hollowness, an empty throbbing ache in her heart. The penthouse was Lucifer's home. A home where she had spent so much time, where they created so many memories.

The Piano, his joy, his light – she could easily close her eyes and imagine Lucifer playing soft, melodious notes, his jacket and vest coat gone, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his arm. She could imagine a small smile tugging in his lips, his eyes closed as he would lose himself in the symphony of music. She imagined herself sitting beside him on the bench, listening to him, playing. The Piano was gone and she was staring at the empty space in its place. The Couch – the Italian leather settee as Lucifer would call it, where she first crashed after being hammered and finding her way to his home, where they used to sit and talk endlessly, chattering over every tiny details of the world and inevitably ending up with Lucifer's sexual innuendos, where they discussed about cases and leads...The couch wasn't there anymore. Lucifer's humungous collections of books and artefacts – she used to drool over his collections, apparently they were all originals, - just poof! Leaving empty shelves in his library.