#tt2014

She hated everything about him from the way he always looked so smug and contented with how complex he made her life, to the way he pushed his stringy blonde hair back. But, it was to the point where without him, she felt lacking. Even when she couldn't see him, couldn't feel the heat that he generated in whatever small space he put her in, she knew he was there. He was always there, somewhere, or if he wasn't he was close. Every part of him lingered, as though when he disappeared he left a piece of him behind.

He smelled like when a campfire is extinguished by a thunderstorm; earthy, smokey, and electrified. The smell came off of him no matter what he was doing or wearing. He licked his lips way too much. Sometimes he was clean shaven, others he was covered in a thin layer of blonde peach fuzz that looked so strange against his dark skin. It pissed her off so much, but her scowls were always met with a cool look of contempt. Contempt, that's all he felt for her. She felt it in the way he stood to close to her and breathed every word against the side of her head in public. The way he looked so hurt when she reeled away from his touch, which burned and left red on her skin for hours. His generic grin when she argued back with him, the glimmer of amusement when she stood up to him. Most of the time, his eyes were cool and condescending... Other times, when he was angry at her, they held nothing but cold disdain. To assume that he felt anything but general distaste with her was foolish. And yet, for three years, he stayed by her side. She was well aware that he could have easily just killed her, gotten the whole thing over with. Instead, for 1,O96 days he stuck with her. He fought for her. She has seen many of times when he has come back to her, the last of whatever marring he dealt with healing up on his gaunt face. She tended to the ones that didn't instantly disappear, ones that would be a mortal wound on any human. She hated him for the way he held out coffee to her every morning, and the way that it was always made the way she liked it... Although she had never once told him she preferred honey in her coffee. The way that, once, she made him try human food and he made such a big deal to not throw it up in front of her. She laughed for over an hour. He left for three weeks. The way he just disappears when he decides he's done talking to her, even during her mid sentence. The way he resorts to violence if he doesn't get his way, puffing up all big and scary and backing her into walls. She knows well enough she can push his boundaries... He won't hurt her now. Not mortally anyways. Her body was covered in scars and burned patches of skin from prolonged exposure to him. To his flesh. She couldn't even handle touching the clothed parts of him, let alone when he grabbed her hand. She had lost all sense of touch in her left hand years ago. She hated him for it. All this flashed through her head as she sat on her knees beside him, his face slack in sleep. Yes, out of all the things he didn't need, sleep was not one of them. She stared at him, feeling angry and vengeful. He ruined it, everything, took everything from her. He even wiped her memories and tried to make her forget it all... But he wasn't aware of the journal she kept, so delicately hidden within her quickly dwindling possessions. When she woke up, two years later with no memory of it, she found her journal and reread it all. Remembered it all. Her hatred for him blossomed. How had she considered him a friend before? Such a foolish thing, to assume that a creature of such a vain and disgusting bloodline would care for her. As soon as she remembered him, he returned to her. So casual. So cool. Calling her 'darlin' and 'sweet pea'. Laying his hand on her cheek tenderly, causing a burn that lasted for days. She reached up slowly, as to not rock the rickety old hotel mattress. His red flecked eyes opened quickly and he sat up, grabbing her arms before she could swing them down and plunge the letter opener into his chest. The silence rang between them, palpable if only hands were free. He looked at her... Calm, cool.... Contempt. Her skin sizzled, she could smell her own flesh starting to cool as the seconds ticked on. He dropped a hand and touched the side of her head, then her face and shoulder. All seconds apart, careful not to leave the singe that was being left on her bone-thin wrists. He let go of her, and she dropped the letter opener. It dropped against her thigh, drawing blood. His eyes flickered a bit, turning dark for mere moments before his pupils returned to their normal disturbingly constricted state. The size of pinpoints, although in normal lighting his deep bloody-brown eyes weren't so noticeable.