It was perverse, he knew. Just another sinister side-effect of the power coin which had poisoned his soul for those two long days.
It had been wrong, he knew, that sadistic desire which attached onto his being and couldn't be prised off – in truth, he hadn't wanted it to be.
In those hours where darkness conjured itself around him, when he had been uninhibited, and combination of power and something more cold and terrible than midnight was dark under the new moon… he'd lost control, and loved not having it.
He'd done things he would never have even thought of in passing had his mind not been poisoned by such hatred, such malice, but he couldn't truly say he regretted his actions.
He hated the fact he had hurt them, but her? He would do it all over again if she was there.
He couldn't feel guilty about the electricity he felt when he touched her skin, bare and smooth and warm against his cool palms.
He couldn't feel sorry for the way she tasted when he'd forced his lips to hers; the tears streaming down her cheeks, the pitiful look in her eyes, the way she shook as he moved closer – none of it mattered as long as he had her there – the evil in him was actually amused by her fear, enjoyed it.
He knew, more than anything, that he didn't regret what he had done to her. The scars across her back, horrendous as far as anyone else would be concerned, were like artwork to his twisted eye. They still were, in a way. He hated the memory of wounding a friend, but remembering the liquid, hot and scarlet, flowing over his blade-wielding hands from her very being… he loved it.
The lacerations were also a mark of ownership.
She was his, for those few days, and no one could challenge that (no one knew – she'd never spoken of her ordeal). She forgave him later – their relationship had become something wonderful.
But now he didn't care about a relationship; he wanted her.
Tommy could remember those days of darkness when Kimberly had quite literally belonged to him; he couldn't help but wish, just occasionally, usually when he'd gone through a rough patch or trawled through his past, that he could own her again, just for a day. To feel her, taste her, have her.
It wasn't evil, he told himself, it was desire.
And no one can honestly say they are free of desire.
But, unlike everyone else, Tommy had a way of fulfilling his – all it took was one word and he could bring back the shadows, the hatred, her…
One word.
One.
Wrote this before a funeral.
My first truly dark fic.
R&R.