Fail-safe: incorporating some feature for automatically counteracting the effect of an anticipated possible source of failure; having no chance of failure; infallibly problem-free

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You will not go back.

If you go back you will give in, and you can't give in.

You will give in and make another promise, and you will break it, just as you broken the first, the most important, one. Twice.

"I'll take care of you."

You did such a great job at it that she almost died under your care. The worst part is the way she looked at you afterward; she forgave you.

You can't forgive yourself.

Your failure haunts you. And you will fail again. You will promise to be true, and you won't be able to.

Oh, at first you'll be fine, happier than you've ever been. Even you can see that. She makes you happy. She makes you believe happiness is possible. She's the first person to make you believe in anything in a long time.

But you don't believe that happiness will last. In fact, you know it won't, so why even bother?

So, you will never tell her how she makes you feel. You will continue forward in search of your past, and you will try to block from your mind the one thing that you want to remember -- the thing you can't forget.

Marie.

Her smile. Her trust. Her scent. The feel of her skin, soft and warm against your lips. The way she asked you not to go. Everything about her is burned into your memory, and it betrays you by keeping every detail fresh and bright.

You promised you'd come back, but you resolve that you won't. Nothing good can come of it. You'll only hurt her more.

You tell yourself this as you ride across the continent, west to east, mirroring the sun. Your body controls you, and you are going back despite your best intentions.

One more broken vow.

In its place you promise yourself that you will not give in. You will remain strong and distant; you won't be warmed by her smile or weakened by her tears.

She will run down the stairs to meet you, dog tag in her hand, and you will smile coolly and focus on the redhead, who will never give in to you, and everything will be in balance.

You arrive at the place to which you swore you'd never return, and she runs into your arms. Even as the rational part of you says, 'pull away, play it cool,' you hug her to you, breathing her in as if her scent is the oxygen keeping you alive.

Yet another failure, in a life that's been nothing but; right now, you can't bring yourself to care. Her body next to yours, her voice in your ear, her taste on your lips -- that's all that matters. You can pretend to believe that you'll make it work this time, that you've learned from past mistakes, and you're due for something to go your way.

You will break her heart, you know it. But you can believe, for just a moment, that you won't.

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