She will ruin my life and I wouldn't care, she could kiss me hard and I wouldn't pull back. The things we did weren't normal not perfect, but beautiful and real. OOC bxe.

Small chapter this first one is because I'm just copying what everyone else is doing these days.

Based on a big mistake that was never suppose to happen, and life as it seems may have been a better place if it never took a role in my world but I would have never had it any other fucking way.


The Things We Do.

Prologue

She's not perfect and she knows it. Everyone knows it. I know it.

She hates Sunday's, and eats like a pig but doesn't put on a pound.

She likes to watch shitty sitcoms, while talks about how crapy they are and can't wait till next week when they're on again.

We had a bad night, and she hates me for it, and loves me for agreeing to another.

She's a stubborn, stupid, smart, beautiful-freak. And I don't care about any of it because it doesn't matter.

I don't want to hear her when she rants, I don't want to hear her when she talks and don't want to hear her now because I don't care.

She could say anything and it wouldn't matter, it wouldn't change anything.

She could tell me to get fucked, she could hit me with a bat, she could cut me deep with her words, and I wouldn't flinch because it's been done before, like I've done to her.

Over and over and over again.

We go through shit, the things we do aren't normal.

We should hate eachother. People are confused but we don't care.

It's doesn't matter.

I should leave, she should let me, I shouldn't care as much and she should care more.

She doesn't give a shit.

Like it doesn't matter to me.

We were best friends. And only we knew. Even if it's not been said, we know, we can tell.

It was never going to last. We knew by the time we were thirteen that we were changing. She was changing, I was denying.

"I fucking hate you," she said as she pushed me back into the janitors closet, latching her legs around my waist and pressed her soft red lips hard against mine.

"You do," I said back, turning so she was pinned against me and the wall.

"I want you dead," she said, starting to rub up and down on me, yanking the back of my hair then hurting my lips with hers.

I kissed her back, harder because it didn't hurt enough and she whimpered out in pain.

"Fine," because I would do anything for her. And nothing to make her happy.

She tugged at the bottom of my t-shirt.

And I let her take it off and run her hands down my chest because I'm just a sick masochist that way.

I did the same to her, and let my senses take her all in.

I bit her shoulder. Hard.

She screamed and whimpered and thrusted and cried.

And I let her because I didn't care.

She couldn't hurt me even though she was.

And I let her cut me because it made me happy.

And the things we did weren't normal, weren't ordinary, weren't clean, weren't perfect but choppy, hard and hurtful.

Because this is the things we do.

We were just like that.

And sooner or later, she would start to see and I wouldn't care enough to notice because I've done it all my life that she'll just be Bella.

The girl I love to hate.


I can't find my way in
I try again and again
I'm on the outside of love
Always under or above
Must be a different view
To be a me with a you
Of course I'll be alright
I just had a bad night

Nada Surf - Inside of Love.