"It all started with a yearning for nicotine and beauty."
J.K Rowling, the Casual Vacancy.
The first time he kissed her, the world was spinning and the colours were beautiful.
The red of the lamps, the white of the snow, and the dark of the sky.
Heat polled down in her stomach as he pressed her against the wall, the heat of his lips upon her, his cold fingers tracing spirals on her bare back.
And they succumbed.
In a dark alley behind some dirty old pub, after several pints of ale, a couple of glasses of fire whiskey, and and a sighting of an ex love, he kissed her.
He kissed her because she was here, and yet she was there.
He kissed her because he was here, not there.
He kissed her because seeing her , hurt.
He kissed her because he was hurt.
He kissed her because he could.
"I can't." She whispered.
"Why? I thought you wanted this?"
Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, and she stayed silent.
Because she wanted that.
And she didn't.
And he kissed her again.
And it was harsh, and it was hungry, and it was angry, and it was needy.
And so were they.
And she knew it,
and she needed it,
and she feared it,
and she hated it.
And when they went deeper into the kiss, she died.
And ran away.
And cried.
And they promised themselves they won't allow it to happen again.
The second time he kissed her, they were high above, floating on the clouds.
Rolling on carpets and laughing their lungs out.
Albus suddenly had to go, and they were unwilling to stand up, and looked at each other, and he inched his face closer.
And they exploded.
In his apartment, on the floor, after two joints, three slices of pizza, a can of beer that tasted like piss, he kissed her.
He kissed her because she was here, and he was lonely.
He kissed her because she was here, and she was lonely.
He kissed her because she wasn't here, and she wasn't lonely.
He kissed her because she wasn't here, and he was lonely.
He kissed her because he was hurt.
He kissed her because he could.
And her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, and she stayed silent.
Because she wasn't sure if she wanted this,
And she knew she wanted him.
And he kissed her again.
And it was gentle, and it was desperate, and it was lonely, and it was needy.
And so were they.
And they knew it.
And they needed it.
And they feared it.
And she hated it.
And when the kiss deepened, she died.
And slept.
And left.
And they promised themselves they won't allow it to happen again.
The first time they fucked, they were angry.
He was angry at her because he saw her with someone else.
She was angry at herself, at him, at the world, but mostly herself.
So he banged his office door shut and they looked at each other with glazed eyes full of rage.
And they burned.
In his office, after two lengthy meetings, three cups of coffee, and four croissants, he fucked her.
He fucked her because he missed her, and it hurt.
He fucked her because he missed her, and he hurt.
He fucked her because he missed her, and he was lonely.
He fucked her because he missed her, and she wasn't lonely.
He fucked her because she was frustrated, and angry, and fucked up.
He fucked her because he was frustrated, and angry, and fucked up.
He fucked her because he could.
And her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, and she stayed silent.
Because she wasn't sure she wanted this,
And she wasn't sure she didn't want this.
And he fucked her again.
And again.
And again.
And it was crude, and it was primal, and it was loveless, and it was needy.
And so were they.
And they knew it.
And they needed it.
And they wanted it.
And she loved it.
And when he fucked her again, something in her died.
And was reborn.
And died again.
And again.
And again.
And they promised themselves they won't allow it to happen again.
The second time they fucked, they were down below, burning in the ninth circle of hell.
Fucking on everything they could find, breathing fire and screaming thunder.
She felt lonely, and ugly, and just broken, and appeared in front of his door.
So when he opened the door, she banged his door shut and they looked at each other with hazy eyes full of anguish.
And they drowned.
In his apartment, after three hours of crying, two hours of screaming, a year of self deprecation and half a year of self destruction, she fucked him.
She fucked him because she hated him.
She fucked him because she wanted him.
She fucked him because she couldn't have him.
She fucked him because he had her.
She fucked him because she loved him.
She fucked him because he didn't love her.
She fucked him because she wanted to be numb.
She fucked him because she could.
And their hearts threatened to jump out of their chests', and they stayed silent.
Because she knew she wanted him,
And she knew she didn't want this.
And she fucked him again.
And again.
And again.
And it was sad, and it was frantic, and it was desolate, and it was needy.
And so were they.
And they knew it.
And they needed it.
And they wanted it.
And he loved it.
And when she fucked him again, something in him died.
And was reborn.
And died again.
And again.
And again.
And they promised themselves they won't allow it to happen again.
The third time they kissed, the world was spinning and the colours were beautiful.
The green of the grass, the blue of the sky, and the sunshine.
Heat polled down in her stomach as she struggled against him to free herself, the heat of his lips upon her, and his cold fingers traced spirals on her bare back.
And they perished.
In the middle of the park, after several weeks of not seeing each other, a couple of dates with his ex, and a sighting of her with someone new, he kissed her.
He kissed her because she was there, and he was there.
He kissed her because he was here, and not there.
He kissed her because not seeing her hurt.
He kissed her because he was empty.
He kissed her because she was empty.
He kissed her because he was depleted.
He kissed her because he was craving.
He kissed her because he was hurt.
He kissed her because he yearned.
"I can't" he whispered.
"Why? I thought you wanted this."
His heart threatened to jump out of his chest, and he stayed silent.
Because he wanted her.
And hoped she might want him.
And he kissed her again.
And it was greedy, and it was starved, and it was dismal, and it was needy.
And so were they.
And they knew it.
And they needed it.
And they welcomed it.
And they wanted it.
And they loved it.
And when the kiss deepened, they were reborn.
And stayed.
And laughed.
And promised themselves they won't separate again.
Too bad they don't keep their promises.