Hello, my beautiful readers.
Here I am again - and there you are screaming at me and hitting me with books of great caliber, "STOP WRITING, KASSY! IT'S SO HORRIBLE!"
But oh well...
This is my first fic from Paul's pov, so it may be a bit rusty.
I'm only planning to have two parts to this - three if i seem to not be able to shutup. But there will be a sequel, hopefully. In Suze's pov. Cause we all looove her.
Anyway,
Your'e screaming at me once more, telling me to shutup.
So I shall.
Enjoy.
Vengeance
Part One
Infatuation
"I'm never going to be able to do it," she stated, finality entwining with her simple words. I shrugged non-committally – so she didn't get materialization the first time – I should have known she'd crack it. That stubbornness in her eyes was completely inextricable from the classic Suze Simon I was so infatuated with. I took the opportunity to stare at her for a moment, drinking in every detail of her appearance. She was angry – obviously – because she hadn't succeeded in materializing the very first time she attempted it. Our weekly shifting lessons, which I always anticipated with excitement, infuriated her to no end, which made anything negative aspect intensified. She despised being beneath me, in regards to power, and she let her frustration take over more often than not.
As if in one of my sordid fantasies, she was lounging on my bed, propped up by dark pillows, which made her white, creamy skin look paler than usual. I suppose my staring got to her after a while, because she looked discomfited suddenly. "What?" she asked, confusion obvious on her features.
It was at that moment that I leaned over, closing the space between our faces, and kissed her.
What? You can't blame me for anything – I was only acting on impulse. A woman simply cannot look that good and just expect a man to not touch her. Her lips were softer than any I'd ever felt against mine, and my dreams certainly weren't giving her enough credit for the way she tasted. My arms greedily came to her waist, and wrapped around her small body, before I abruptly rolled her over, fuelled by passion, and pressed her down into the mattress of my bed. Susannah Simon, beneath me, on my bed. What an achievement. But then she seemed to gain her bearings again and turned her head from mine after just a few moments of bliss.
"Get off of me." she said in what I suppose she thought was an immensely convicting tone. Her words were tight and clipped, but they didn't invoke even the most infinitesimal flicker of emotion in my being. Her chest was rising and falling erratically, and I strongly doubted it was from the lack of air. I smiled – I couldn't help it – and claimed her lips again with my own. She tried to wrestle them away – apparently, I didn't have the right to kiss her.
But what did she know? I honestly did not understand her unhealthy infatuation with that stupid, infuriating corpse that lived in her bedroom! Didn't she find that weird anyway? I mean, he was living in her bedroom. Or I guess living is too optimistic a term, seeing as he's technically dead. God, she wouldn't have even known if he was watching her while she got changed or something equally perfidious. Talk about creepy. But oh no, Jesse wouldn't do anything like that. Because "Jesse is such a gentleman and he respects me so much." Ugh, she was unremitting in telling me that, every single week. I was so sick of hearing it that I was genuinely considering exorcising him already, despite our agreement.
She tried pushing me away, but I held her fast. Having her body against mine so closely...God, it was driving me insane! I could feel every single curve of her soft, feminine flesh against my own. But right now her body was hard; rigid with what I could only guess was something akin to frustration or annoyance. The rich heat she generated was intoxicating – she couldn't forcibly stop that, and so I basked in the warmth of the beautiful, previously invulnerable girl that I held in my arms so tightly. I deepened the kiss, my hands roaming her back.
And then, suddenly, as if she had finally come to her senses, she was kissing me back. The sudden passion in her kiss made my nerve endings itch in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. The degree to which I had come was both bewildering and luxuriating – like a sudden, unexpected high. I had never, ever in my life expected the kind of ebullience she was presenting me with at that indescribable moment. I felt her relax in my arms, and I could almost fool myself into believing that she trusted me. It was like...sheer perfection.
Unlike any of the other girls I had taken an interest in, Suze had always seemed somehow untouchable to me. Like something on a higher shelf that I couldn't reach, and not just because of that stupid ghost she thought she loved.
But now that I was touching her, bringing her down to my level, she was finally, finally accessible. If I dwindled down her perfection – that is to say, her loyalty to her corpse of a boyfriend – I could have her.
It was exhilarating.
I had known from the start that I was anathema to her – she hated me with almost every fibre in her being. But within that hate generated need...want. She needed to feel – she obviously wasn't getting anything from him. I despised her then for being with him – he didn't even use her! While all I wanted to do was break her down, build her up, and break her down all over again. I wanted to be driving into her with unhindered force. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and never, ever let her go. I wanted to own her, possess her, and let everybody know that she belonged to me...
Except that she didn't.
And she would never be mine, as long as her precious Jesse was around.
I've always wondered what it was with Suze – why did I want her so bad? How did she make me yearn for her, pine for her so pathetically? How had she managed to reduce me so dramatically, and not even notice it? Sure, she was beautiful, but I'd definitely seen girls as beautiful as her before and not so much as batted an eyelid.
I'd convinced myself that I wanted her so badly because I'd been obsessed with what I couldn't have. It was the easiest answer to my incessant question about why I was so drawn to this girl. And that's all she was – a girl. She didn't have any right to stir up such strong, potent feelings inside me. She didn't have any right to make me scan the classroom I walked into in the morning, just to see how beautiful she looked that day. She didn't have any right to make me so infuriated and jealous of her stupid boyfriend! Yes, I admit it; I was jealous of him. Not in any way but one – I was jealous because he had her.
I hated what I had become sometimes, but not one spark of that hate ever ignited her. I could never hate her. But I couldn't stop feeling this way – she had me in her relentless, clutching grasp. And she didn't have one clue that she affected me so intensely.
I didn't even acknowledge those easy little sluts that continuouslyflung themselves at me, flicking their hair and pouting their lips. But Suze...Suze was in a whole different world. I had to work for it, for her approval, for her acknowledgement, and I loved the difficulty as much as I loved the chase. I loved the way her eyes would shine when she let her hostile guard down, allowing herself to admit that I'd said something funny, or genuinely kind. I loved the way she would smile to herself, off in her own world, sometimes. It really truthfully hurt me when her eyes flashed angrily at me – a feeling I didn't let show, of course. If she knew how deeply in love with her I was, she would think of me as weak. She'd mock such deeply borne feelings; I could see it now. "You don't know how to love, Paul." She would say, eyes and words cold.
I'd foolishly thought it was her unavailability – not just that; her blatant dislike of me – that made me crave her so intensely. But once I had her in my arms, my actions reciprocated at long last, I didn't want to let her go. I wasn't chasing anymore – she was unmistakeably vulnerable. But this, as I immediately learned, was how I wanted it. She had nothing more to give me – platonically speaking, of course. There were many things she could still give me physically, which I chose not to think about at that moment: I didn't want to...intimidate her – but I still held that intense need for her, deep inside me. I never wanted to let go – it was as if she was my lifeline, and if I relinquished her again, I would wither and die.
Have you ever been walking somewhere and noticed the most perfect autumn leaf on the ground? One that had fallen and was so dry, you just itched to hear it crunching under your feet? It was the best amongst all the other leaves, and you couldn't help but admire it. But did you really want to crush it? It would give you such satisfaction to hear it crumble beneath you, but it was so perfect. Or did its perfection lie in the fact that it would crush so well? Do you admire it? Or do you destroy it for the satisfaction?
It was as if I were pressing my foot down lightly, making the tiniest impression on the beautiful leaf. And it was so gratifying that I didn't want to think about what crushing it would be like.
But then I ruined it.
To put it simply, I'm a man, and she's a woman. I was just touching her the way a man should touch a woman. The way I needed to touch her. But as soon as my hand slipped up her shirt, she froze like I'd slapped her in the face.
I sighed – I had come so close!
Like salt to my bleeding wounds, she instantly jerked away from me, shock obvious in her emerald depths. A shaking hand came to her face as she sat up – to do what, I do not know – and she looked around frantically, like she had just woken up in an unfamiliar room.
"Oh my God!" she said in alarm, running a hand through her dark hair. "Oh my God!" her words adapted a hysterical tone, and the pitch of her voice was higher than anything I'd ever heard her emit. "What am I-" she still seemed very astonished by it all. And then she turned her accusatory gaze on me.
"Paul!" she screeched in outrage, as if I'd just, I don't know, physically hurt her or something. As if I could ever do that. The bitch had me freaking whipped! I curled my lip at her ever-innocent act, as she stared at me with such conviction that caused the guilt to start scraping at my sides. I forced my gaze away from her reproachful glare and felt pure frustration consume me.
"God, Suze! Do not freaking blame me!" I exclaimed heatedly, my temper flaring up while I avoided her eyes. Because I knew that if I so much as glanced into her beautiful emerald depths, I would fall to pieces. I ran a hand through my hair, and refused to acknowledge how hard it was shaking. She had built me up so high, and then thrown me down; revealing a cold, guiltless side of me that I never wanted her to see. It was her fault.
"You're the one that kissed me!" she cried shrilly, making my eyes narrow into slits of disdain.
"You kissed me back." I accused quietly, stating the blatantly obvious. I wasn't surprised to see an expression of shock and hurt marring her beautiful features when I turned to face her again. "Oh, don't give me that look, Suze." I spat tiredly, "What's next? You gonna start crying?" I scorned, not able to justify or explain the words that escaped from my mouth, much less why I was saying them to somebody I loved so deeply. I guess I had been wrong before – I could hate her.
Her expression turned to one of anger then, and she settled her mouth into a tight line that provoked me to roll my eyes.
She thought she felt anger, hate, pain?
She felt nothing.
But she would.
I could make sure of that.
Reviews are loove (:
