She looked into my eyes and told me she loved me. We hadn’t been together in, God, I can’t remember. But she said it. It was as clear as day.

“I love you.” Her soft, red hair flowing in the wind. It was completely unexpected.

She asked me to meet her, saying we needed to talk. Stupid me, I always fall for that shit, but there we were, holding hands at the marina, watching the boats on the Long Island Sound coast on the horizon.

We had been together for a short time, but it was a glorious time. The times we spent together, the dates, the late night partying, the cocaine, it was incredible.

Okay, maybe the cocaine was a problem. After the second arrest, the judge sending me to rehab, and my father cutting me out of the will, I realized I had to stop.

She hated me for leaving her, but it had to be done. But here we were, standing where we stood the first time kissed, with the moon lighting the sky and the cool breeze teasing her hair.

“I love you,” she said. It was glorious to hear, to know how she felt.

The knowledge that she never stopped caring for me felt good, a tension relieved. But the sharp pain, the darkness, the stars spinning around, it all was unexpected.

The last thing I remember was the shackles on my arms, the hood on my head, and her whispering in my ear one last time, “I love you,” before shoving me overboard to my death.