She broke his spine, twisted and molded his bones until they were malleable in her hands, so he would always bend towards her — always her— and he healed wrong, the cracks filled with her, her, her.
(She never meant to.)
"Your eyes aren't blue like the ocean," he told her, once, staring up at the bright blue sky, head resting on his arms. "They're…they're like the sky, sort of, but when it's almost sunset, y'know? Right before all the pinks and purples set in."
"Your eyes are green like grass," she replied, strained smile directed towards his profile. They were on the roof, laying on their backs, and unwilling to move, lazy from the warm summer air. "They're pretty."
He snorted. "They're not pretty. Nothing about me is. I'm manly."
She laughed. He turned to look at her, that spark in his eyes burning bright, and smiled. "You're pretty, though."
She laughed, quieter this time.
She didn't tell him.
(The blue in her eyes was nothing more than the rot of her soul.)
She wishes she had.
"But it's my birthday. They're going to have a cake and balloons and sing — "
"It's imperative you retrieve this chip, Terra."
"But — "
A sigh.
She shut up.
When she came back at two in the morning there was a half melted Rocky Road ice cream cake in the fridge with her name written in red frosting.
Beast Boy slept on the sofa, a party hat tilted on his head and his mouth gaping open. There was drool on the side of his mouth.
Terra draped a blanket over him and left the room without a word.
"The girl you want me to be is just a memory."
(A jaded memory, faded with time, bitter the longer it rested on the tongue. Tar — she was like tar congealed on the skin and hair of everyone she ever touched. )
(She tried not to think of her real name. Tara.
Tar-a.
If she bleeds, she bleeds black.)
She took a step back. He stared at her. The bell rang and students flooded the hall.
When the crowd dispersed and she was at the other end of the hall, he was gone.
Years later, there's a college diploma in her hand and a cap on her head and a smile on her lips. Her friends cheer, her adoptive parents cry, and she laughs, pure sunshine bursting through her slowly healing cracks.
Her eyes swivel towards the crowd, sweeping through the mosaic of families, and land on a green face at the back.
When he waves a shy hand, she smiles a strained smile and nods. He positively beams.
(She wishes she felt the same.)