"I hate you."
The words escape her lips as he thrusts into her. He knows she's lying to herself, to him, to everyone. They don't believe her but she's forcing them too. It isn't that difficult though, people are known to succumb to Brooke Davis's demands. Especially him.
They had been broken up for about a month now, and after one night of a drunken kiss, this had become a ritual. He'd text her saying I love you. She'd come to his house, kiss him feverously and then slap him, saying "I hate you." In response to his declaration, he knows he shouldn't expect anything better; he has hurt her plenty of times.
Lay back baby and we'll do this right
There's blankets in back we can use
I'll start the car, but we'll stay in park
The cold can kill us before fumes
Haley knows. She hasn't caught them or anything but she knows. She hears the way his breath hitches whenever she's in the closest proximity of him. He's not surprised she can't hear the way his irregular heart beats whenever her skin accidentally brushes up against his own. He won't confirm what's been implanted in her brain, that would be the end of his fantasy with the only girl who'll let him have her body, but keep him the furthest from what he desires the most. Her heart.
Peyton doesn't know even though he's gotten closer with her than ever before this year. It's not like they're together, he just doesn't want to ruin whatever he has with Brooke. And by telling Peyton, well, words wouldn't be enough to explain the complete love he has for her best friend.
Nathan surely cannot find out, he'd probably take physical action towards him. Since the closeness between Haley and Brooke, Nathan joined their little group. Also, Peyton informed him how when they were younger Brooke and Nathan had been close. For obvious reasons, Nathan was the last person to ever confess his sweet sin to.
His muscles ache, her flushed face gives away the immense pleasure she received during their tryst. Who wouldn't? When two people are in love, the pleasure is insurmountable. Sex isn't sex, its making love. And the amount of love shared between these two specific souls, when combined, takes the form of the most beautiful art. His imagination couldn't surpass a world without her. A world without them.
Kiss me with your cherry lipstick
Never wash you off my face
Her red lipstick is everywhere, the collar of his shirt, some parts of his neck. God he loves it. His own aphrodisiac, it's her, the sensations she brings out in him, the art they create, the love they have. And he's sure she has that same amount of love for him as he does for her, although he can't imagine loving someone as much as he does Brooke. Even when she says she hates him. He doesn't believe her.
Her eyes don't match what she says.
Come alive on the driver's side
So close I taste your breath
Your lips go dry, but there's sweet inside
They're both tired. She turns to face him and traces his jaw line. "I hate you. This is the last time. Thanks for the fuck." She smirks and turns her back to him and falls asleep. He simply smirks because he knows she means the opposite. Instead she said, "I love you. But I still don't trust you with my heart."
He knows she's lying; her eyes did that non-matching trick. Her words used to hit him like bullets until he looked into her eyes, it gave away everything. That day he learnt to speak to her eyes was the day he understood her way to communicate with him. She'd make him work, make him prove himself. Prove his actions, prove his words. Talk the talk, walk the walk. And to win her over, he'd make the sweetest love to her. Leave her feeling only him.
Hit me, I can take your cheap shot
Leave you with the love we made
Give me everything you've got now
I don't feel a single thing
Drag me out into the cold rain
Let it hover over me
He never knew how to do it before, speak with his eyes. Talk to others through their eyes, but she taught him that. It's the simplest form of communication. He'd rather use that then his tongue. Words would be so empty, hollow, when leaving the pink muscle surrounded by a hollow cave. With the eyes it's the most magnificent and meaningful gesture. Things are clear, to the point.
So whenever she does say, "I hate you," or brush pasts him in the halls at school, or barely says a word to him when they're occupying the same gym area, he knows.
Her love for him exists, and his love for her?
It never could have been possible to extinguish a flame that burnt so terrifyingly strong. No matter how many bullets where thrown into its endless pit.
Hit me, I can take your cheap shot
Leave you with the love we made