Just another drabble about Mary (moving on) in season 4. Inspired by the song Landfill by Daughter.
This is torturous
Electricity between both of us
And this is dangerous
'cause I want you so much
But I hate your guts
It's his eyes, she thinks, that she hates the most. The way the blue is similar enough to make her remember, but different enough to make her forget. The way they seem to find her and know her, even when she wants to be invisible and unfamiliar. But it's his hair as well; the errant curl that falls against his forehead makes her want to scream, even as her fingers gently push it back. The brown is a comfort, and it feels different too—thicker, softer, more of a curl. She hates the way it smells faintly of mint and a winter breeze. She hates his mouth too, and his smile that is never more than a smirk. And she hates his lips, and how they fit against her own. She hates the way they trace her flesh and leave her skin on fire when she wants to feel nothing but ice. She hates the way they wrap around his words and whispers, and the way he speaks when she would much prefer silence. She hates his hands—their strength and their softness. She hates the way her body responds to their touch, and that her bliss no longer feels like betrayal. She hates that they've wiped her tears as often as they've held her own. She hates his arms, and the way the fit around her like they were carved to do so. She hates the way they hold her up when she would much rather fall. She hates his chest and his legs, and the comfort she feels from their weight upon her. She hates that his heartbeat sounds like a lullaby, and that his presence anchors her when she wants to drift away. She hates how much she wants him, and she hates that he knows it. She hates that he knows not to listen to the things she says, because she tells him that she hates him so often. But what she hates more than anything else are the lies she tells herself, over and over again. Because she does not hate him at all.