TITLE - Desperation
AUTHOR - ROTTEN CANDY
RATING - T for angst, language, and some implied fantasies. ;D.
DISCLAIMER - I don't own Bleach or any of it's characters. They all belong to Kubo-sensei.
SUMMARY - Grimmjow angsting over something he shouldn't be. Short drabble.
NOTES - Well, it's 3 am and I can't sleep. So guess what I decided to do? And when I read over it, it didn't make sense to me. D:. Read, review, flame, whatever.
He hated her.
No, he absolutely despised her.
He loathed her to the point that he wanted to clench his hands around her throat, and strangle the life out of her.
He didn't care what Aizen would do to him after - he needed to solve his own problem his own way.
Even if it meant being killed by his 'master'.
He didn't really 'give a flying fuck what happens as long as that bitch dies!'. Well, that's what he told the other arrancar when they happened to learn of his dilemma.
And who did he want to kill? That human bitch named Orihime. He hated the way she didn't really seem to fear anyone in Hueco Mundo - that is, except for him. She was calm when Ulquiorra was watching over her, but when she was with him, she trembled as if she were about to be devoured by a monster. He hated it, and it pissed him off.
He also hated the fact that he noticed small things like that. Before, he never perceived the fact that anyone trembled in his presence; he was always blinded by anger and didn't notice those little things. But then she came. Her and her so-called 'caring' personality, and her attitude. She didn't really have an attitude, but as he saw it, she did. Always talking of her friends, and going on and on about how they were going to save her. That bitch needed to separate fantasy from reality. There was no fucking way she was getting out of there.
But he didn't know if that was his hatred for shinigami and humans speaking, or jealousy. The past few days, he had been musing upon those thoughts. What was she to him? Why was his hate for her not relevant to actual hatred? What was wrong with him?
One day, he came to a conclusion. He loved her. Just thinking that as he walked down the hall pissed him off to the extent that his arm went through the gut of a nearby Numero. It wasn't intentional really, it was just the spur of the moment sort of deal. He was pissed, and his body involuntarily moved to relieve it... and that was by gutting random Numeros.
He couldn't fucking believe himself. Was that the fucking answer he had come up with? He was a hollow, for God's sake. There was no way in hell he could love. Or so he had thought.
Several times he had told himself it was just lust - and that bitch had a great body. Such a great body, that he sometimes imagined himself fucking her brains out. It had to be lust.
But when he had those fantasies, he didn't feel those same emotions he had when he fucked some random woman. No, random worries and concerns usually intruded upon him such as, 'Am I hurting her?'. He never cared before. Now, even in his fantasies, he has to ask himself that.
If it was just lust, he wouldn't give a fuck. This was something more - something much more. Maybe it was love after all. But he couldn't accept that.
And that was why he hated her.
He couldn't figure out if he loved her, or just lusted after her body. It could've been both for all he knew.
He slammed open the entrance to her room, the door hitting the wall profuse amount of times before slowing to a halt. The carrot-topped girl looked to him, her eyes widened in fear.
"You're food's here, girl."
"Y-yes, Grimmjow."