When I was a little girl I learned not to play with fire. It can hurt, scorch, burn and destroy. My Mama was sure to keep me away from all the dangers of the world fire included and it stayed with me, until I met him.
He was fire personified; he radiated danger and a scorching heat. Everything about him told you to stay away, to not get close. He made it that way, was like that because he wanted to be. His sarcasm could sting like a burn and his charm could warm you like heat.
When it came to him I just couldn't listen to that southern voice in my head that said to stay away, I had to get closer. And the closer I got the more I started to want it more, want the heat, want the burn and I couldn't help but enjoy every moment of pain from his rejections.
I wasn't long though before her started to wear, before I could see the lust and passion in his eyes that he fought so hard to control. But his control slipped and soon it wasn't just lust I saw but caring as well. Soon he needed me just as much as I needed him.
And oddly the more we hurt each other the more we seem to need each other. From one harsh word to another we cling to each other like those stranded in the ocean would to a raft. I would tell him he's useless and heartless and he would tell me im a bitch and question why he would ever love me. But still it ends the same way, me in his arms with him asking for my forgiveness as I do the same.
Some around the mansion say were bad for one another, some say were perfect, others call us masochists for the way we throw insults back and forth. But in the end it doesn't matter because im his Rogue and he's my Pyro and we will never let each other go, even if we burn to ash holding on.