He was unstable, God everyone knew it. But, she'd told him, she'd always tell him when it hurt too much. Right?
Wrong, she didn't want to face him like that. She hated seeing him in this way, so cold and cruel, not happy and warm and apologetic. She loved that side to him. Loved the feel of his cold hands on her skin, even if it was when the blows were raining down on her.
He was unstable, God she knew it.
But, she was too, now. He'd changed her, made her keep secrets rom her friends, from Shane, who was clueless to her secret turmoils. He never questioned her, what she'd done with her day, never. It kinda hurt, but not like it did when he hit her. When his cold hand made contact with her skin, sending her spinning around the room.
When his sharp fingernails sliced her skin.
When he drank her blood, it was pain beyond pleasure. It was a morbid type of ecstasy. She loved the cold of his lips, when they were kissing hers with controled passion, or when they were cruelly ripping her neck, drianing her.
She loved him, she loved how he'd apoligize when he regained his sanity, how he'd cry bloody tears over her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, as he gently helped her stand. She loved his gentelness, his passion in bed, his age, his mind.
She hated his fists, the pain he gave her, that made her moan and scream, the way he laughed as she cried, the way his eyes were cold and hard, like marble, not lave. She hated how they only just recongnized her, how he used only enough force to hurt, but never kill. How he still knew her, but how he still lashed out at her, drank her blood.
But, it was still him, still her gentle scholar, Myrnin. Pain beyond measure, she loved him, and hated him. She feared him, and lusted after him. She was wrong she knew it. She waited for the abuse, knowing that when it ended he would apoligsie and hold her tightly, and show her, in every literal way, how much he loved her. How much he was sorry. She loved those moments, even if it was pain that made them happen
She loved the way he lived off her, how he drank from her, draining her in a pain like frenzy. She hated herself for it. She hated lying to Shane, leading him along. She knew it would only hurt them in the end. How, eventually it would catch up to them, making them cry.
But, she just didn't care. She didn't care that soon all the walls would crash in on them, or how soon she would just be hurt that bit too much, and that would be the end, the end of everything.
She didn't care.
And that scared her.
It scared her a lot.
But, she knew she couldn't stop it, stop their love and hate. She didn't want to face his anger.
ooOOoo
She rolled over, her skin scratching and tearing delicately on the glass that littered the floor.
"Don't move." He hissed, his eyes were flat red, dark and horrible. I shivered, waiting for the blow to fall.
It felt like pain, a thousand stitches in her side, a million headaches as her head impacted to the floor. She felt the pain rip into her as he leaned over her, pressing her into the cold floor, gently, almost tenderly taking his hands, before biting the pulse at her wrist.
Her scream was a symphony to his ears. A wonderful sound, so pure and drawn out, so cold and cruel. He revelled in it. This was Claire, but what did that matter? She was his, and always would be. She was supposed to stay here, to give him everything, blood, sex, anything. She had left. Her screams reached symphonic proportions in this little room that smelled of us, of our lust, our passion.
She was a tightly wound orchestra, tight and ready for me, the conductors, every move. I liked that. I was dominant, God, I was a vampire, she was a mere mortal. I loved her, but I couldn't help it. Hurting her brought me such joy, knowing she was mine, how she would press each delectable work of art on her skin, wincing, with a smile.
I liked the colour blue, and purple and sometimes yellow and green. Her artwork, so delicate to her skin made me smile, especially since I was the one who cause it. Who had made her moan and scream her pain over pleasure.
I was sick, but God, I loved every second of it.
Science brought me less joy then this tiny bleeding girl beneath me, her face a mass of tears, her eyes screaming, when her mouth could no-longer form words.
I smiled as I gently scratched my nails down her arm, little rivulets of blood oozing out, a stream severed from the river. I smiled as I lapped it up. I heard her stifle a moan as I did, her eyes shutting. I smiled cruelly before viciously ripping her neck open. I felt her eyes flutter open. Her mouth forming into a perfect scream, her hands fisting in my hair, her back arching.
I loved the way I could make her scream.
I hated how much it hurt to do it.
I loved her.
I hated her fragility.
I lusted after her body, her mind, her soul.
I loved him.
I feared him.
I lusted after him.
I wanted to kill him, but I loved him too much.
ANOTHER ONE-SHOT! Please review, and in answer to people who read my last one- Shattered Dreams, no, I don't want to commit suicide.
xxx