He abuses her, pushes her around, leaves bite marks on her neck from that awful, awful night before. And still, she stays around.
She watches him, watching as he kisses that pretty brunette and strokes her cheek gently with his hand. She receives those gestures of affections too. But only when they're in the heat of the moment.
She hates it. Hates how he can look at her with his dark, coercing eyes and she instantly turns into glue. A sloppy mess. He picks her right back up.
He takes advantage of her. She knows she does, she knows when he's doing it. She's aware when he seduces her with a smirk, a simple touch, his crippling words.
But she wants him. So she waits. She waits with another one of her pursuers, a blonde boy who whispers sweet nothings in her ear and will never leave bruises on her arms like he does.
She pretends to be okay with it. At school, she smiles and laughs, slipping into a mask of teenage pretend. When she sees him on the street, she'll nod politely and slide past him. When he wants her, he lets her know.
She won't let him get to her. She won't let him know how she really feels. She'll drown her sorrows into her tear-stained pillows, biting on a blanket to muffle the sobs.
x
It's nothing but a mere game. He's the cat and she's the mouse. The cunning, sly predator. The weak, needy prey.
He can see the despair in her eyes on the goodbyes of their rendezvous. She wants him to ask her to stay. He never does.
He makes her jealous with those other girls, those other girls who are nothing but one night affairs and meaningless fucks that sound nothing like her when they come for him. Nevertheless, he likes to watch her squirm when she stumbles upon them in the dark of the night.
You can never go too far, he thinks to himself. If everything is under control, it means you're not going fast enough. He whispers this when he notices her glassy eyes the morning after.
He craves dominance. He wants her to be like putty in his hands. So he entices her and she melts. He doesn't even need to compel her.
He's feeling frisky and hungry so he follows her home. He doesn't expect to feel like an asshole when he finds tears on her pretty painted face. He doesn't want to show emotion. He's supposed to be heartless.
So he walks out. He wants to believe he is just simply going fast enough.