Susan Keller was Annabelle Lee
Or: Since It's Way Too Late for Reconciliation, How's a Little Revenge?
I told him once:
"Do you REALLY want to fight me? I cheat. And the name of THIS game is *I* win-you will end up not wanting me, hating me, and knowing you should never have insisted on this. Remember that I have ammunition that no one else has."
So here's a little story...
He met her when he was way too young, still in his formative years. Fourteen is that. She'd been abused, physically, sexually, mentally, emotionally. Her uncle, and it was violent. It made her masochistic, made her submissive, made her need the violence. So she taught him to be sadistic, taught him to dominate, taught him to be violent. How willing he was to be taught! And he loved her. And he called her his Annabelle Lee; they loved with a love that was more than love, he and his Annabelle Lee. She gave the most amazing blow jobs. And he was young and stupid, in a biker gang, the leader of the Unforgiven. So proud of themselves, so arrogant, so invincible. And the trouble they got themselves into was too often over their heads. Only this one time it got bad. Very bad. Bear with me, there's a point to this, and it comes back around to Susan/Annabelle. Anyway, his little club was running drugs. And this time they picked the wrong people to run to. Or from. Or whatever. One of them got himself kidnapped, and the gang had to go after him. Bullets flying, closed space, walking through fire to save a life very likely not worth saving. (Or maybe that's just my opinion about biker gangs.) Raven saved his holy friend. But he shouldn't have been there. They shouldn't have gone on this particular run. Because this was the day he and his Annabelle Lee were to have been married. He had promised her to be there, to wed. His word meant nothing. So the night he almost died, the night he should have been in his marriage bed, there was a party. Drinking and drugs and a bonfire; sex, bikes, and guns. A whole night of debauchery, in other words. Then came the morning. He woke up with her on his chest to the sound of a gun cocking. The gun in her hand. The gun she was going to use to kill herself. The gun he grabbed from her hand. "Why weren't you there?" was the topic of the conversation they had. Fifteen minutes of this conversation. Fifteen minutes until he slapped the gun into her hand and told her, "Just do it already; I'm sick of listening to you." And the holy friend ran towards them, and Susan Keller shot at him, and Annabelle Lee killed herself. A permanent solution to a temporary problem, according to Raven. He didn't have all the information, though. She was pregnant with his child. He skipped out on their wedding day; he abandoned his love and his child. Does it matter that he didn't know? Does it matter that he broke his word? Or does it only matter that his child and his love died on his chest, their blood on his lips, in his hair, in his clothes. The blood birthed the Covenant, his promise to his dead Susan and to himself. The Covenant so easily broken with me. And for the same reason, the breaking of his word, he lost again the same things: his love and his child, in me.
It's no wonder he married Misty when he impregnated her. It's no wonder they got divorced when the baby died mere hours after taking his first breath.
No, the man is not a mystery to me. I have his history.
Laters
I told him once:
"Do you REALLY want to fight me? I cheat. And the name of THIS game is *I* win-you will end up not wanting me, hating me, and knowing you should never have insisted on this. Remember that I have ammunition that no one else has."
So here's a little story...
He met her when he was way too young, still in his formative years. Fourteen is that. She'd been abused, physically, sexually, mentally, emotionally. Her uncle, and it was violent. It made her masochistic, made her submissive, made her need the violence. So she taught him to be sadistic, taught him to dominate, taught him to be violent. How willing he was to be taught! And he loved her. And he called her his Annabelle Lee; they loved with a love that was more than love, he and his Annabelle Lee. She gave the most amazing blow jobs. And he was young and stupid, in a biker gang, the leader of the Unforgiven. So proud of themselves, so arrogant, so invincible. And the trouble they got themselves into was too often over their heads. Only this one time it got bad. Very bad. Bear with me, there's a point to this, and it comes back around to Susan/Annabelle. Anyway, his little club was running drugs. And this time they picked the wrong people to run to. Or from. Or whatever. One of them got himself kidnapped, and the gang had to go after him. Bullets flying, closed space, walking through fire to save a life very likely not worth saving. (Or maybe that's just my opinion about biker gangs.) Raven saved his holy friend. But he shouldn't have been there. They shouldn't have gone on this particular run. Because this was the day he and his Annabelle Lee were to have been married. He had promised her to be there, to wed. His word meant nothing. So the night he almost died, the night he should have been in his marriage bed, there was a party. Drinking and drugs and a bonfire; sex, bikes, and guns. A whole night of debauchery, in other words. Then came the morning. He woke up with her on his chest to the sound of a gun cocking. The gun in her hand. The gun she was going to use to kill herself. The gun he grabbed from her hand. "Why weren't you there?" was the topic of the conversation they had. Fifteen minutes of this conversation. Fifteen minutes until he slapped the gun into her hand and told her, "Just do it already; I'm sick of listening to you." And the holy friend ran towards them, and Susan Keller shot at him, and Annabelle Lee killed herself. A permanent solution to a temporary problem, according to Raven. He didn't have all the information, though. She was pregnant with his child. He skipped out on their wedding day; he abandoned his love and his child. Does it matter that he didn't know? Does it matter that he broke his word? Or does it only matter that his child and his love died on his chest, their blood on his lips, in his hair, in his clothes. The blood birthed the Covenant, his promise to his dead Susan and to himself. The Covenant so easily broken with me. And for the same reason, the breaking of his word, he lost again the same things: his love and his child, in me.
It's no wonder he married Misty when he impregnated her. It's no wonder they got divorced when the baby died mere hours after taking his first breath.
No, the man is not a mystery to me. I have his history.
Laters
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