A response to the prompt 'Hate also means passion' by julyisfree:)Review please!
Post 3x11, Dual
Claire leaned against the doorframe in her room. Her eyes are red and her hair is tangled. She can see her face in the huge mirror in her room in the Petrelli household. She points at her reflection accusingly. "You did this!" She shouted, sobbing freely now, but her eyes still spark with anger. She knows she didn't do it. She didn't kill her mother; Sylar did. But out of all the people who walked out of Primatech that night, she's the only one unharmed. The only one who was never truly in danger. And everyone still goes around trying to protect her. Truthfully, she wishes they would just watch out for themselves. Maybe then she wouldn't keep losing them.
She swings her right fist forward with as much force as she possibly could, but it only succeeds in making a small dent in the mirror, a circle of tiny, disfigured shards. She swings her fist again, harder, and again, until she can't see the reflection anymore. Until the blond haired girl in the mirror is a broken and shattered image, just like her heart. Her mouth twists sarcastically. It doesn't make her feel better, but it dosen't make her feel worse.
"Tsk, tsk Claire." Says a voice from behind her. "What would mama Petrelli say?"
She whirls around only to be faced with the man from her nightmares. She's scared, but she'd stick a shard of glass through her head before she gives him the satisfaction of seeing it.
"Sylar." She hisses, with as much venom as she could muster at that moment, and charges towards him. He just flicks his hands and she freezes in an awkward, standing position. "Sorry, Claire, I don't feel like fighting with you right now." He watches as the anger in her eyes flare, feeling amused. He makes a twirling motion with his hands and she too, twirls.
He flops down on her bed, watching her, a small grin on his, even she has to admit, handsome face. "Nice trick, huh?" He moves his hands again and her hands fly up, above her head, making her white T-shirt ride up the tiniest bit, exposing a strip of sun-kissed skin. "Think of all the fun we could have..." He trails off raising his eyebrows suggestively. Her lips press together in a thin line, going white. He allows her to speak. "I thought I killed you." Her voice is quiet, but he can feel the burning, hot rage beneath it. He twirls his fingers again, and watches in amusement as she twirls as well. He really does love this particular power.
"Stop that!"She spits, green eyes burning. "No, don't feel like it." He retorts, making her walk towards him. He twitches his fingers and she sits down next to him. "How about we try a more comfortable position?" He smirks, twitching his fingers again so she's lying on the bed. "For you, or for me?" She mutters, pissed off and tired, but unable to do anything. "For me." She can hear his voice, but she cant see him. She dosen't have to see him to know that he's smirking. God, she wants punch him. She can just imagine it. She'll just grab his hair and bang his face into the wall. Repeatedly. She smiles at the thought. "What are you doing here anyway?"She scowls, remembering the predicament she's in. "I just wanted to let you know something I read."
Claire raises her eyebrows. "Seriously? You came all the way here, just to tell me what stupid thing you read?" She feels Sylar playing with the hem of her shirt, involuntarily causing butterflies in her stomach to flap their wings. She squashes the feeling. She will not allow her mother's killer to make her, even for the tiniest of seconds make her feel that way. His fingers move up to her belly-button. Shit. She scrunches her eyes shut, pretending she doesn't feel like she's on a rollercoaster, pretending she doesn't feel the pleasure that tickles the base of her spine. It's hard.
"Feel good, Claire?" She can see his face at the the border of her vision. He's smiling. She wants to punch him much, much harder now. She's not going to answer him. Then he'd know she was lying. She refrains from opening her mouth at all, settling for glaring at him instead. It's much safer that way. His fingers go upwards, resting on the spot just beneath her chest, tracing circles and making the butterflies flap their wings harder. She scrunches her eyes shut. Okay, now she's beginning to plan different ways of torturing him. First, she'd start off with an elementary favourite; sticking bamboo under his fingernails. Then she'd stick his feet in boiling water. Then she'd knock his head repeatedly. With a sledgehammer. Fourthly, she'd...Oh shit. His fingers have worked their way between her boobs, rubbing the spot gently. Her eyes snap open, and she struggles against her invisible bonds. She really wants to slap him. Partly for all the things he's done for her, mainly for making her feel this way. He's laughing. His fingers twitch slightly to the side, and her stomach flip-flops. "Don't you dare." She draws out each word carefully, making sure he understands.
"Come on, Claire." He swims into her line of vision, grinning widely. "I'm just having a bit of fun. Doesn't it feel good, though?" He whispers into her ear. Unable to help herself, she spits out, "No!" Damn it! Now he knows. She closes her eyes and slaps herself mentally. "So it does." He whispers into her ear, and she thinks his fingers are going to continue their journey to the side of her chest, but they don't. Thank god. Even he knows his limits. Instead, they trace circles on her face. She feels his hold on her lessen, and she immediately takes the opportunity to sit up. She lunges towards him again, but this time, instead of mentally stopping her, he catches hold of her, one arm around her neck, one arm around her waist and pins her to the headboard of her bed. She is left nowhere to look but into his eyes. Briefly, he kisses her, a small, tiny touch of their lips that leaves her wanting more for some inexplicable reason.
He gets up and walks to the window, preparing to take off. "What did you read?" She asks, eyes narrowed in confusion. He smiles briefly. "Hate, is also passion." He then jumps out the window, and by the time she gets there, he's long gone. "No," She says refusing to admit he's right, even though she knows he is. "Hate is hate."
Whaddya think? Should I continue?:)