Ultraviolence

The door came crashing open. She's not surprised really he could never open the door quietly.

She could still see the fury etched into his beautiful 's not healthy, never was never will be. All the both know is pain and violence and the crave it. Cato needs to see the sight of her blood against her pale skin,the beautiful rage she can needs to feel the sweet pain only he can give. Maybe she's a masochist maybe she just needed the pain to jolt her back to reality.

"Are you done yet?" she says yawning."Shut up, Clove just shut up. Don't piss me off anymore than I already am." His voice sounds more like a feral growl than anything. "Aww little Cato's mad cause he didn't get what he wanted". She was pushing him she knew it but it was all she knew. All they know."Clove, I told you to stop." His voice is scarily calm now which is never a good thing. Strike two. He was getting angrier, so she got bolder. "How about this,"she's taunting him now "I'll get you a juice box and and some pretzel sticks after you finish with your little tantrum." That was it that was strike 3. He hit smack resounded across the room like a cymbal crashing in one of the Victory Parades. Yes, it stung, but she also felt something else. More of a...numbing sensation.

He hit me, and it felt like a kiss.

Clove knew she was gone. Cato was beautiful, terrible, but she couldn't get away. She couldn't do anything.

She loved him too much.

And, God, even if he hit her she would stay. She knew it was wrong but, God...he was Cato and there was something just so perfect about the moment.

He hit her, and it felt like a kiss.