Summary: (This is how to drink your hypocrisy down, how to become enamoured with your lies, how to live in your own skins.) This is how to love a monster.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Note: I have been thinking for a while about this now. I have a plot, I have a plan, I have things sorted. Once again, a crack pairing, and Juugo is just the way I swing. Ino is the way I roll. The almost favourites guys are just in betweens. So hypothetically speaking, for people who never know what I am on about, this should be fine. Wonderful, is it not? So, you get 'Skins', which may be otherwise known as 'How to Love a Monster' according to some people who knew this was coming, or something to that effect anyway. Much thanks to Demonic Angel Clone for the prodding, Super-Sweet for being my pet goldfish, and Corderoy Pants for being the love of my life and checking this over.
Warning(s): Bad language, mentions of M rated stuff, seriously dark at points.
Skins
Prologue
Once upon a time, there was a girl and a monster.
Except, the girl was a liar who drunk down the hypocrisy she became enamoured with at twelve years old and pumped her charcoal veins full of pain just to feel alive again; and the monster was the one unprotected and unprepared, he really wasn't all that repulsive at all, and in the dreams of long ago he was the person to count sometimes as everyday or forever with her because she was more than just a girl to him.
There were no princesses in their story, just forest floor sex and a dream of God because that was what he wanted her to be. Because some nights she lifted her frail arms above her head, and screamed for more than this – and he believes it works when she does because she is beautiful she is – because she could do anything. He'd give her that. She could do magic, and somewhere along his blurred fluid lines drawn in the dirt she thought he was special too. Well, not so long ago, anyway. But that was enough.
He'd accepted long ago that this story wasn't a proper one, that when it started she was just the girl everyone wanted to be or wanted and he was just an awkward stranger offering her nothing at all in return for her company but liquefied danger until she knew what safety really was. He should have known then to lock his doors. He'd seen her make a boy cry, watch it, then wipe the tears away without much remorse. But he wanted to believe that someone who looked so harmless wouldn't whisper niceties in his ears and tear away their foundation and he knew if anyone asked he would say it was him to make her crack, not the other way around.
He supposed it was sort of like they were a man and a woman in a book; except their story wasn't like every single scribbled out best seller with a happily ever after where the partner in crime was whatever the lead wanted and that was how he would write it. Because nobody would believe that the girl was the one to hurt him, the one to recite words over and over to make him think himself beautiful – justlikeher justlikeher justlikeher in every heartbeat – because she could give you anything and pull her half-hearted dusty heart from directly under anyone she wanted.
Once upon a time, there was them; and whenever she was asked what happened, she'd give a simple reply because nobody needed to know that she had no remorse, that if she ever had any such thing in her body it had been buried long ago, that she told herself that was the reason for her secretive smile instead of inside really enjoying every bloody second of this fucked up mess but she didn't really want to be the one that enjoyed breaking him.
But still, they're standing here like this, and she's giving the same answer over and over until it makes him want to crack if it means having her fingers rake over his skin again – if it means her saying she loves him just once more – because he loves her and somehow she doesn't need to say she loves him too because he knows it but he wants to hear it anyway. So does she, and that's why she's hoping that pulling at the concrete base they built will make them both wonder how long it takes until they fall even though she probably knows it'll never work.
Once upon a time, there was a girl and a monster. Except the girl didn't know when she was lying anymore even though she was enamoured with drinking gossip down, so she didn't know who she was anymore; and the monster had beauty that was more than skin deep so it shook her to the very core, until she couldn't think of a reason why she told him she was just a girl and not anything he wanted her to be. Just to top it off, if anyone asked, she'd say their story was called this: How to Love a Monster.
And no, it didn't end happily ever after.
Love me, hate me, notice that I do not take life all that seriously because doing that makes you dull. If you feel particularly inclined, drop me a note, because constructive critisism is given a good home and reviews are loved like nothing else. :)
