I begin to relentlessly beat my fists into his face, and I don’t stop until my fists are annihilated and the reflective shards are nothing but dust covering the floor. The hardest part about falling in love with an angel isn’t making her accept the fact that I kill people. It isn’t even keeping the identity under my mask a secret from her. It’s accepting the fact that Christian Reeves makes her happier than I ever could. It’s accepting the fact that I am not Christian Reeves. I am not Christian Reeves. I am not Christian Reeves. I. Am. Not. Christian. Reeves.
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