"Slick" A silky sweet voice calls.
Oh God damn it. Just when you though you'd finally get some sleep, this bitch decides to barge in and make your life even more difficult.
"Whaddaya want, Snowy."
You turn around sharply to see the sleek silhouette of her figure leaning up against the doorway to your room.
She manages to find away in. Every. Single. Time. You don't even bother locking the door anymore.
There's no use trying, and to be honest, who knows. You might get something out of it.
"Oh, Slick, Darling." She says, her words stick like honey.
"Don't you know how lonely a girl can get by herself at the Manor?"
As if. The woman lives in a fucking mansion with 14 men.
But then again, none of them ever seen to be remotely up to her standards.
You wonder what brings her back, again and again. It never seems to fail.
When both of you are on the call, you hate each others guts.
Hell, it wasn't too long ago the wench stuck a damn cigarette holder in your eye socket.
Why does she think she has the right to do that? You haven't done a damn thing wrong,
and you aren't about to let this broad ruin your reputation. After all, if it wasn't for you this town would still be in shambles.
But somehow, she always manages to make up for the public contempt she displays towards you.
She takes a few steps towards you smoothly, and hops on your bed.
She throws herself on her back and stretches her slender legs up, taunting you.
Everything about her invites you.
"Damn it woman. Do you know when to give it a rest?"
You glare at her, and obviously it's not doing anything to even remotely bother her.
She just stares back at you. And you swear you can see the damn universe in her eyes.
Which is odd in considering, her life ties with the universe. Her death equals the death of existence. Of all that you know.
And somehow that seems very befitting.
Light emits from the window, and dances around her, illuminating her body and making her dress glitter even more.
She gently holds out her hand to you. A direct invitation.
You hesitate. You always hesitate. And you aren't really sure why. It could be that just looking at her like this,
makes you nervous. Nervous of what? Of losing her? No. You hate her. Losing her would be the best thing to ever happen to you.
And yet, you take her hand. And you leap next beside her. Your heart is like a jackhammer. You've never felt this much emotion in your life.
And that's something you would never admit to the boys.
You would never admit it to her.
You gently slide onto her back and unzip her dress. You take the utmost caution to not inflict any kind of pain upon her.
The dress is off, it hits the floor. She sits up and pins you down, and then it's your turn.
She takes off your over coat. Your shirt. Your heart jumps a little every time she touches your skin.
You can feel blood rushing through your veins. She reaches down, her lips meet yours.
You are both just flesh and blood. History and the future have no impact on this moment.
There is chemistry here. Real chemistry. Neither of you can deny it.
But neither of you would ever admit it.
The night grows old, and she's asleep in your arms. She'll be gone before morning, you know that much is true.
You take your hand and place it across her chest. You can feel her heart beating.
Pumping, bringing life to the world around you. You honestly don't know what you feel anymore.
You could kill her right now. Right on the spot. No one would ever know.
When a universe falls apart, no one's going to say anything about it.
And yet. You can't do it. You know you couldn't do it. Even if your own life depended on it.
And that's just it. Your life does depend on it. Your life depends on her.
In more ways than one.
Your hand slides back to hers, and you take it.
You know how you feel about her. You know in your heart, a place you never really pay attention to, that she is yours.
But why can't you just tell her the damned truth?
You fall asleep to these heart-wrenching thoughts, ready to wake up to a new day.
A new day thanks to her.