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Angels	By : TaimaMarie Category: Individual Celebrities > Criss Angel Views: 884 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or know any of the celebrities I write about. This is a work of fiction, and I am making no money.

Chapter List
- 1-Angels
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AN: Inspired by the song Angels by Within Temptation, which is one of my new all time favorite loves.

“This ends now! Do you hear me?” how many times had he screamed that to her? How many times had he thrown out her rigs? How many times had he come home, holding his breath, thinking that he was going to find her dead on the bathroom floor?

“I won’t do it again. I swear. I swear, Criss. I promise, okay? Please don’t be angry.” She always whimpered it. Behind the glaze of her eyes, he thought he detected honesty. And dammit, she knew how to play him like a violin. She knew the words to say, knew just when to cry, knew how to look at him with those big blue eyes almost over brimming with tears.

“This doesn’t happen again.” He always growled. It was a dance they had both memorized over the years and months. She’d always nod solemnly and then rest her head against the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

He always found here there, lying on the white tile. Her dark hair spread around her head like a halo. Her arms were always up by her head, and her eyes held a peaceful expression. Even Criss had to admit, the girl look beautiful when she was fucked up.

If you asked her, she would have given you a million different reasons why she did it. Life had been unkind to her, and she had suffered a lot. But who hadn’t? Who had a perfect life? Criss was hard pressed to think of a life without some misery in it. Most people learned to live through there misery. There were even a gifted few who turned their misery into something beautiful.

She chose to drown it in the drugs. She told him time and time again that it chased the demons away, that she thought she deserved a little respite from the rest of the world.

“And what about me?” Criss had demanded his hands in fists. “Don’t I help you?”

“Of course,”

“Then why?”

“I…” she had always just shrugged. But if she knew that she was making herself look like a moron, she didn’t seem to care. She continued on with the drugs, injecting them one day at a time into her veins.

Killing herself slowly. With a bitter laugh, Criss wondered if it was because she was too much of a wimp to kill herself all at one go. Or maybe it was because she enjoyed being alive because when she was alive, she could have misery, and the misery gave her more of a reason to do the drugs. Sometimes thinking about it gave him a headache.

When she was sober, she was the most wonderful person. She was smart, she was funny, and they would stay up for hours on his couch, talking about everything and anything. In the early days of their courtship, he would call her every night, and hours would slip by without him even noticing it.

She was captivating. She was everything he wanted. Except that little drug problem. That little drug thing that he convinced himself he could ease her out of. He could show her a whole wonderful world without them.

You can’t help someone who’s happy in their bad situation. You can’t give someone that gift if they don’t want to take it, and she certainly didn’t. Apparently Criss wasn’t a good enough reason to stop.

Sadly enough, he found that he couldn’t leave her. Day after day, he told himself that he was going to have to tell her it was over. But every morning when he rolled over and looked at her, curled into a tiny ball on the bed, he found he couldn’t do it. She put him through Hell, and he enjoyed that misery.

As time went by, her sober days dwindled down to nothing. And still he could not make her leave. He saw her wasting away before his eyes, and knew that time was running out.

So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when he came in and listened to the stillness of the apartment. There was a certain heaviness in the air that was completely new. He crept towards the bathroom.

Criss stood with his hand on the doorknob, considering. It would be easy, wouldn’t it, to walk out? Easy to call someone else to come and check on her, have someone else find her. Easy to not assume that responsibility of being the last one to see her. Easy to wash his hands of this whole mess. Too easy, of course. She was his responsibility, even now.

So the illusionist turned the knob and crept in. The room was dark, and she was there, her hair the usual halo around her head. Her body was naked, and her skin had a faint blue tinge to it.

Criss knelt down next to his fallen angel, touched her icy cheek with the tips of his finger. Her lips were turned up in a faint smile. Her eyes were, mercifully, closed. That was good. He didn’t think he could stand seeing them one last time. They had always hypnotized him to life, and he shuddered to think how they would make him feel in death.

She was dead and gone. She had left him there, made her exit on the bathroom floor. It was really no surprise. He shouldn’t have been upset. So why was he crying? Why was he still kneeling next to her, his tears falling down on her face as he looked down at her? Why did this hurt so badly?

Minutes or hours later, Criss finally got his cell phone, dialed those three numbers, and said numbly that he’d found his girlfriend on the floor. She was dead, no one had to hurry, and he thought it was an OD.

The funeral had been small. She hadn’t had much family, none of her friends showed up. Drugs made people forget important dates, Criss thought. So now he was standing alone by the graveside. He stared down at the hole with her casket. (He had picked a white one with silver decorations. She’d looked beautiful in the white satin lining, in that white dress she would have worn to their wedding.)

“I love you, still.” He whispered before turning and walking away.

Their love had been tainted by the drugs, by that haze in her eyes. But it was still love.
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Angels