You wait.
You count...1...2...3...4
She turns. You've won.
You smirk. She looks at you, a plead, a cry, and a smile all in one look. You like that. You know everything that annoys her. You try your best.
She picks the lamp off the floor. The bulb broke when you threw it. She picks the shards of glass off the floor, and out of her foot where she trod on it.
You touch the spot on your shoulder where the knife hit you. You lick the blood off your fingers.
She watches.
The adrenalin stops for a second, and you look around. The furniture is overturned. There's a sofa spilling foam on the floor. A knife lies behind you. 3 windows have smashed, and the door hangs on one hinge. There's a bloodstain on the rug by the fire.
You look at her face. She has a black eye, and cuts covering both her cheeks. There's a burn on the side of her neck. Blood runs from her nose. You smirk again.
And so it starts.
She walks up to you, lays her hand on your chest. It's like a switch, and you love it.
You scream at her not to touch you, she disgusts you, she should leave, never come back.
You see the tears in her eyes, and you feel disappointed. She's in a feeling-sorry-for-herself mood. She'll probably cry.
You try again. You see your chance when she apologises. You explode in her direction, you're surprised she doesn't run, but then you see it.
The spark in her eyes. You know she enjoys this as much as you do.
Names roll off your tongue, bitch, cow, whore, masochist, some of them not even disrespectful, but you spit them at her like she's on fire.
There's fire in her eyes, and you know she's about to throw something.
She doesn't. She steps closer, close enough to touch, and she does, hand on your chest, and suddenly there's force behind it, and you're flying through the air, through the window.
...
There's glass in your back, you can feel it. Blood runs down your forehead, and into your eyes, the world swirling into shades of red. You pick up a large shard of glass, and head for the house.
...
She's there, in the room. She's shouting abuse at you, but you're not really interested. She sees your head, and she pales. She sees your eyes, and her hand flies to her mouth.
Never before have you felt this. You're used to the adrenalin, and the venom, and the pretending to regret what you said, but this...
This is so different.
You're aware there's glass in your hand.
You know there's a girl in front of you.
The two mix together in your head, and you smile.
You wake up. There's dried blood on your face. you're sitting in the remains of your coffee table. You can taste something bitter, like lemon juice.
That's when you see her.
She's lying on the floor, on her side.
In a puddle of blood covering most of the floor.
There's red slashes all over her face, neck and arms. Ah, you think, Hence the blood.
You check her hands, and sure enough, there are defense wounds.
Then it all floods back, the fight, the window, the glass.
You remember.
It's all her fault. If she'd never pushed you out of that window, she wouldn'tve died.
And then you realise what you've done. You've killed her. And it hits you,
Like a ton of bricks.
In the face.
And you cry. You hold her body, and you cry.
Then you see red.
And you remember the feeling from the night before.
And you go hunting.
A/N- yes, i know it was a bit rushed. And there was no plot.
If you're going to ask me who the girl was, i have no idea. I like to think of her as either of Astoria or Hermione, depending on what mood i'm in.
This was inspired by the song Love the way you Lie part II by Rihanna and Eminem
Rewiew? Please? For a cookie?