A/N: Curse you, hpaddictedg! If you didn't write so flippin' well, I wouldn't be sitting here, trying to emulate your greatness.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. And I don't own the line, "I love you just as much as I hate your guts." That kind ofbrilliance can only belong to Elvis Costello.
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He doesn't want her. Not much can be gained by having such a thin, delicate... fragile girl at one's disposal. The screaming admiration in her eyes when she looks at him is of no consequence. She's just delusional. And the words she whispers in the dark, when she thinks she's alone, are the words of one who has reached the end of her wits.
A surrender, no matter how maddeningly desperate, is nothing when there hasn't been a struggle. After all, what fun lies in killing someone who craves death? In loving someone who lives for the utterance of just one gentle word?
She doesn't want any more pain. She needs, begs for, constolation and honesty and an ally against those who find joy in harming her. The forlorn little girl with black blood seeping from her heart stares right into him, silently pleading -- but he can only bring her pain. Pain, misery, lies; he can only be her enemy, lurking in the shadows to seduce her with dreams that only go unfulfilled.
"You're power," she whispers. "Power, greed, and alibis."
"But you love me,"
"I love you just as much as I hate your guts."
He doesn't want her, but that's not important. She's drowning in him, now, and it would take far too much energy to save her.