Three little words.
"No, you don't." His fingers gripped her shoulders, shoving her against the headboard with a sudden ferocity. His eyes gleamed intense and feverish. "You probably think you do, I'll give you that. Love. Ha. A concept invented by the weak to distract themselves from the misery of life." His words dripped with disdain. "Or, if you want a twenty-first century take, a Hallmark scam. Profit off the emotions of the poor deluded saps in search of something to fill the existential void. Obsession, or lust, veiled with righteousness. Jesus. Even the atheists need some bullshit belief to latch on to. Stop deluding yourself, dollface."
Whenever he got like this, waxing philosophical, she began to tune out. She tried to focus, she really did, but the words became a blur and her attention shifted to his face. Beautifully passionate, alive with fervour. She shivered beneath the force of his grip. He could snap her neck like a twig if he wanted to, choke the life from her lungs, but she was starting to trust that he wouldn't do it. In her dark moments, she clung to the thought like a lifeline. It had to mean something.
Besides, he was wrong. She never thought she would say it: he was brilliant, a tortured genius, brain functioning on a plane above that of mere mortals. He didn't make mistakes. But she knew with a burning certainty that for once, she alone knew the truth, and no eloquent words would sway her. Perhaps that distance was the problem. At times he seemed above such feelings, though she grasped at the moments when cracks showed. It would do no good to argue. All it would earn her was a blow across the cheek without a moment of his consideration as recompense.
"Why else do you think I'm here?" she whispered.
He sneered at her. It shouldn't have hurt after all this time, but there was still a small pang. "Simple. You wanted greatness. You were suffocating under the conventions, the rules. Enter yours truly. And I listen to you, bring out a side that not even you knew lurked beneath. I know you." He smirked. "The sex helps, too. You couldn't give it up if you tried."
A welling of despair in her breast. He was right, he was always right, but it was only a partial truth. There was the quirk of his smile and the fear he inspired and the quiet moments to which she alone was privy. The pull of taut skin across clever fingers, the vehement passion a spark of colour in a black-and-white world. Even the bruises blossoming across her stomach a sign that he noticed enough to care.
Not a weakness, but a relentless tide which gripped and pulled and tossed you around until there was no up or down. The ultimate justification, an undeniable force of iron strength. More than liberty or life or the confines of sanity. How could he not see that?
As he released her, silence taken for defeat, she couldn't help a small smile. Invisible in the darkness. Secure in her secret.