Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not a thing.
Warning: Alright. Well, this could be a bit graphic if you aren't used to it. Minor mentions of blood and hints of suggestive activity, though nothing explicit.
Author's Note: I don't know what rock from hell this nasty one crawled out from underneath, but I like it. I've been wanting to do this FOREVER, but sadly I think I may have made these two little cuties a bit OOC x.X I can't help it-I just have this massive cat-and-mouse fantasy headcanon between the two of them.
(Also, I promise to update my other SnK stories soon! I'm on Spring Break now so...yeah? xD)
The door opens, but she doesn't turn to see who entered. The overwhelming stench of hatred does not assault her keen senses, nor does the prickling curiosity of the insane scientist trace its way down her neck. Instead, the presence in her windowless room is just there. Silent, but observant. She stares at the rough, faded walls in front of her, pretending to be the very essence of uncaring, but thoughts nag at the back of her mind to turn around and just look.
She knows who it is, but she doesn't know what he wants.
His silence is agonizing. She decides that it is better to be directly impaled by his brilliant gaze than feel it bore twin holes into the back of her head any longer. Annie turns to face her visitor, wondering if he'll say something or if he'll just leave like last time. She didn't look at him last time. The rattle of her heavy, chaffing manacles is the only sound in the deathly silent room. She fixes him with a firm glare of her own, but it is no match for his unnerving stare. Unlike hers, his stare is not a chipped mask. It is a declaration of war.
Annie breaks away first, purposely jangling the cold iron rings around her raw wrists to break up the one-sided tension in the room. The sound is loud and grating against her ears, but it's finally something she can create. Something she can control.
In her peripheral vision, she sees him slowly sigh and take a step back. He is no more successful now than he was days ago. Annie briefly wonders if this is because she is ignoring him like she did last him.
"What do you want?"
Before she can stop herself, the words trickle out of her mouth and she can't rip them out of existence unless she wants him to know she made a mistake. She can't afford to make any more mistakes in front of him. Her voice is strained and crackled from weeks of disuse. She realizes that Armin was the last person she had spoken to all those eternities ago.
The boy is obviously not expecting an answer, judging from his startled blink. Finally Annie has a brief respite from his vicious gaze. "What?" he echoes. For a moment, she sees the naïve boy he used to be before titans stole away his faith in humanity. However, he quickly builds back up his mask. Far too quickly, for Annie's taste.
"What do you want?" Annie repeats slowly, not allowing any emotion to stain her flat voice.
Armin steps completely into the room and shuts the door behind him. Annie merely raises an eyebrow at this unprecedented invasion of her prison.
"I have a few questions."
Annie wants to laugh. For a moment she thought he wasn't going to be like the others, but now he stands in front of her no different from the crazy scientist and the solemn captain. He only cares about knowledge and he doesn't care how he gets it. He willingly exploited her and tore her from a chance of normalcy just to prove himself right once before. The painful truth bubbles up in her throat like choked tears and she laughs just as she laughed all those months ago. Anything to cover the pain of betrayal.
Armin watches the girl laugh with an impassive expression.
Nothing much has changed since that day. She supposes that she hasn't really changed either, lying still in her frozen stasis, with only her thoughts and hatred to keep her company.
When Annie stops laughing, she fixes the boy with a genuinely curious stare. "If I didn't tell that psycho scientist or 'Humanity's Strongest' anything, what makes you think I'll tell you?" She sneers, emphasizing the boy's youth.
Armin tilts his head, considering the question. "We never followed through on our wager," he states simply, ignoring her sly pick.
Annie starts at the boy's comment but forces herself to maintain a disinterested stare. "What wager?" They both know she knows exactly what he's talking about.
Armin continues as if she hadn't interrupted him. "I'm betting that I can get you to answer questions about yourself."
"What if I win?"
Armin blinks again. "What if you win?" he echoes. His unintentionally intimidating aura is gone, replaced by a startled curiosity. He obviously never considered the possibility of losing to her. Annie quietly notes his change in confidence.
"What if I win," she repeats in a firmer tone. It isn't a question, but more of a counterargument.
"What do you want then?"
The girl smiles nastily, revealing her gleaming incisors. There is no humor in her sadistic expression. She leaves her answer ominously open for interpretation. "Will we play till breaking?" she offers innocently.
The boy frowns and reflects upon the stakes. He hesitates before nodding. "We'll play till breaking," he confirms. Annie considers her opposition with a curious stare. She feels as if a majority of their dialogue—it almost seems like a performance and they both play the conflicting roles—is conducted through furtive glances and controlled inflictions in their tone of voice.
"Very well." The boy before her is neither terrified nor aggressive. He is determined to play, yet he is also hesitant. Almost as if he is afraid of what'll pass between the two and what he'll do. When they break from their cordiality, she wonders what will be revealed.
Armin smiles weakly, accepting her challenge. "Why don't you go first?" Ladies first.
Annie glances down at the chains around her wrists. She lifts them up and jangles them exasperatedly as if the blond across from her hadn't noticed them.
Armin smiles apologetically and shakes his head. "Commander Erwin's orders are not involved in this wager. I don't have the key." Annie narrows her eyes at the boy. It amazes her how the boy could be such an adept manipulator in one instance and a horrible liar in another.
"You had to have the key to get in," she counters flatly.
Armin smiles again, though this time it is slightly less apologetic and slightly more triumphant. A faded string slides from his sleeve almost like a magic trick and twin, tarnished pewter keys turn lazily in the candlelight before her. Annie watches the keys mesmerized for a moment before lurching towards the boy's dangled prize. Quickly, he snaps the twinkling keys back into his sleeve with a shake of the head.
"Not yet. I suppose if we're playing a game, you'll have to win them."
Annie glares at the boy and turns away slightly. Even though he had courteously offered to allow Annie to go first, she feels as if he has already made the first move of the game.
And so it begins.
Annie takes a careful step around the boy so she stands between him and the way out. She's testing the water, making sure if she agrees to play, guards won't arrive to break them apart or to condemn her further. She watches his expression, though his guarded eyes neither warn her nor encourage her to act.
"Are we alone?"
"Yes."
"Are you lying?"
"Does it matter?"
"Maybe."
"Tell me why."
Damn him. Annie grits her teeth and turns away from the boy. She surveys the heavy door before her. If her manacles were undone, she could easily incapacitate her visitor and sneak out of the unlocked door. It is closed, though she doubts the teen locked it when he came in. However, she can't gamble her one chance of freedom on the precautionary measures of one boy. She doesn't know him as well as she thought she did.
"Did you lock the door?" she asked casually, pretending that she doesn't actually care.
"Does it matter?" the boy repeats cryptically. He's testing her and she isn't careless enough to call him on his bluff just yet.
Annie glances over her shoulder at the boy and notices with an unfamiliar twist in her gut that he is smiling. Her first reaction to his expression is anger.
"I wonder what I can do to take that smile off your face," she growls under her breath so lowly that it seems he doesn't even hear her. She stalks towards the boy with a violent expression, though he doesn't flinch at her approach. With the heavy clanging of her binding manacles, Annie grabs the boy roughly by the chin and squeezes his gaunt cheeks with a forefinger and her thumb. Her action pulls the scrunched skin around his mouth into a pucker as if the boy had eaten something sour.
Armin lets her hold this position for a moment before one of his thick brows arch up with a bored flick, as if asking her if she's done. Annie slowly releases her grip, satisfied to note when the boy allows his mouth to twist back into a natural expression, he is no longer smiling. His mouth is now a firm slash across his slightly red face from where the girl's chains brushed roughly against his soft skin.
"You asked if we were alone—why?"
"Does it matter?" the girl snarls, sending the words with a nasty aftertaste right back to their master.
"Yes," Armin replies patiently. "If you give me a reason, I'll give you something in return."
Annie lifts an uninterested eyebrow. Still, internally she is intrigued by his offer, even if she would never admit it to him out loud. She does not respond to his proposition and the boy begins to offer his own theories, each of which cause her to cringe more.
"Is it because you are afraid of condemning yourself further?" Armin ponders aloud as he travels aimlessly across the length of the tight cell, ignoring her stony glare in his general direction. "Are you afraid of giving away more secrets?" He stops and fixes the girl with a dangerous, calculating stare. "Or you're afraid of what you might say? To me?"
Annie maintains her icy stare with the boy's significantly warmer gaze. "For your own sake," she deadpans. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your superiors."
Her sarcastic statement has the opposite effect as the boy bursts into a loud, light laugh. "I forgot what your sense of humor was like, Annie. Scathing as ever."
The girl scowls, wishing she could shut him up somehow. "Are you done yet?"
Armin immediately sobers up and his face becomes solemn and curious again. "You never answered my question."
Annie sighs, completely exasperated with the boy's inability to not drop things. She supposes this habit is the very thing that got her into trouble initially and she should be more wary of his direct questions. Yet, she feels obligated to answer this one for some strange reason.
Annie glances away, glaring at the dank ceiling above her as she answers. She doesn't want to see his expression. "Fine. I wanted to know if we were alone, because I want this to be between you and me. You and me only. I don't want Eren or Mikasa or any of your other Survey Corps friends listening in and I don't want that crazy scientist interfering. This is between you and me," Annie repeats, boring holes into the corner of the cell.
Something warm and solid lightly traces across her cool skin. She resists the urge to jerk her hands away from the contact and her head snaps down to see what the boy is doing. While she was answering, he took the opportunity to step very close to her. So close that she could see the individual lashes framing his blazing blue eyes like black halos. He pulls the key to her chains from somewhere and carefully inserts the key into the rusted hole, freeing her from her secondary imprisonment. The manacles fall to the floor and clatter loudly in the deathly silent room. Annie immediately retracts her hands from his calm grip, noticing the subconscious flash of hurt in his eyes at her rejection. She rubs the raw, blistered sores on her wrists and steps away from the boy, putting a few feet of distance between the two.
"We are alone," Armin murmurs softly and it takes the girl a second to realize what he is referring to.
Oh. Right. Him and me. Like I really cared…
She glances back to his face and steels her own scowl into a firm, iron slash across her chapped lips. She considers this a draw between the two of them. She's free; he has his answer.
"The door is, in fact, locked," he continues. "I do possess the key to get out of the cell, but you cannot win it," he adds cryptically.
Annie glares at him. "Why are you telling me this?"
He smiles faintly at her. "So you trust me to tell the truth?"
"No," she huffs, glancing to the side. Between the two of them, she knows he is the one who is most likely to be trustworthy. However, she also knows that neither of them has a completely cleared conscience.
"Really, Annie?"
"Are you done now?" She counters, relishing the slightly irritated expression flickering across his features as she continually forces his words back to him. She marks this down as a potentially successful tactic. Looks like Armin doesn't like to be mocked…
Armin forces a pleasant smile, but for the first time, Annie finally sees a crack in the boy's confident mask. He nods his consent for her to play her second move. She wastes no time in leaping upon her only opportunity.
"I don't trust you and I never will."
"I'm a bit hurt, Annie," the blond boy crosses his arms with a feigned expression of disappointment. He's become more cynical since she last spoke with him. She wonders if her actions played any part in his transformation or if he's just finally lost his dangerously optimistic core.
"I don't trust you because you're a sly, manipulative liar who doesn't care who he crushes to succeed."
"I don't know wha—" Armin interrupts automatically. Annie continues relentlessly, feeling pleased to have elicited such a strong reaction from the uncharacteristically unemotional soldier.
"You were the one who told that pompous, egotistical commander who I was. You're the one who created the plan to trap me. It stank of the famed Armin Arlert's ingenuity."
"You were an enemy to humanity! We had to stop yo—"
"Were?" Annie tilts her head slyly and smirks at the blond's accidental slip up.
Armin blinks, suddenly realizing what he said. She can see the distress visibly trickle down his features like water.
"You think I'm no longer a threat since you've locked me away down here?" she snarls.
"No," he starts slowly. Annie waits as the boy composes his thoughts. She is surprised that he actually decides to answer her. He's far more cooperative than she is.
"Then what?"
"I," he hesitates, glancing away to the side. "I still think you can be a good person, Annie," he answers softly. "If I win this and get what I want to know, it won't be for humanity… It'd be to try to help you." He turns his shining blue eyes on her and the girl rears backwards from the overwhelming combination of sound and sight. Annie doesn't know if he's being sincere or if this is a version of his sick, twisted manipulation, but she feels an unchained sense of rage flow through her veins.
Before she can restrain herself, she lunges at the wide-eyed teen. He's too startled by her reaction to move and her nails, long and misshapen from weeks of imprisonment and apathy, scrape sharply across his left cheek.
"You think I can still be a good person?" she spits, wishing with every fiber in her being that her nails could have been laced with the same toxic venom in her voice. She runs her sharp nails down the length of his face and scrapes across neck and collarbone, leaving behind a broiling red line in its wake. However, no cut is as deep as the one on his cheek.
Armin slowly lifts his clean hand to his pulsing cheek and runs a tentative fingertip over the angry, raised injury. When he pulls his fingers away, dirt and crimson stain his once spotless fingers. Annie can tell the boy is rattled by the action, but he isn't afraid of her yet.
Not yet he isn't, she reminds herself confidently. She runs the edge of her sharp fingernails against the meat of her palm, feeling shreds of Armin's skin fall free from underneath her nails.
"Would a good person do that?" she snarls again.
Armin forces a smile and rubs the wound with the edge of his sleeve of his Scouting uniform. Crimson smears along his cheek; the blood makes him look younger, more defenseless. "I will admit, there is a process that we have to go through." His optimism is disgusting.
Annie grits her teeth and turns away. She is partially ashamed by her action—she curses her impulsiveness and forcibly tells herself that if she wants to beat him, she has to be more composed, more controlled.
He takes the next turn, addressing the girl's arched, stiff shoulders.
"Did you know you were crying when you imprisoned yourself in your crystal?"
Annie freezes. She didn't know.
"It was only a few tears," Armin continues, "but I saw them. Like diamonds strung along your cheekbone."
Her fingers lightly trace the same area on her own cheek as where she had previously scratched Armin. All she can feel against the pads of her fingers is grime—not the shimmering liquid Armin describes.
"I think I might have been the one of the only ones to see the tears. Everyone else was too mad to look at you," he begins. "Captain Levi also saw them, but he thought you were crying because you lost—at least, that's why you cried when you couldn't capture Eren the first time, he said."
Annie wrinkles her nose at the unpleasant memory. She refuses to give the boy the real reason for her tears. The girl maintains her dark glare at the wall in front of her.
Armin's voice is closer when he speaks again. "See, I think you regretted what you did. A bad person wouldn't cry—only good people feel things like that," he finishes softly. His voice is tired and Annie briefly wonders what else is on his mind. She wonders if he's regretted anything he's done in the name of "goodness."
Armin falls silent and ends his turn with a simple sigh. She twists around backwards and notices that he's watching her with sad, expressive eyes. He doesn't even attempt to hide his weakness when she looks at him.
Although she can see her marks across his pale skin and in the glimmer of his eyes, she knows his marks have already struck deeper to her core. She can't tell yet who's winning, as they are both tearing each other apart in their own special ways. She's disappointing him; he's making her feel guilty.
"My turn," Annie announces, ripping the boy's words apart with a vicious shake of her head. She tries to dispel his sincere propositions with counterclaims snarled in her mind, but she can't purge the boy's slight remarks from her memory.
Armin nods once, wary and consenting. He stands at attention as she circles him, eyeing him like a dangerous or dying animal. She tries a different approach, tries to play with different emotions than hate and anger.
Annie tentatively reaches out a thin hand, brushing against the boy's bare skin with her own soft fingers. The boy stiffens instantly at the contact as if electric currents surge through his veins. Annie's uncharacteristically gentle touch strays over a bruise on his collarbone and she stops her curious exploration. She presses down on the purplish-green welt faintly and then harder, relishing the boy's faint squirm away and the sound of his breath being sucked forcefully through his gritted teeth.
Annie allows her fingertips to wander away on his bare skin, stopping again at the inside collar of his shirt. She plunges her hand into the tent formed by his warm, taunt back and his cool, linen undershirt. Another surprised gasp escapes the boy and his spine straightens as his shoulders fold in on themselves. His hot skin burns her fingers, numbed and chilly from her prolonged exposure to the dank prison cell, and for a moment, she finds the contact momentarily pleasurable.
Her lithe fingers press down on a random vertebra, causing the boy to shudder automatically. She feels the rattle through his erect spine. She pulls her seared hand from his shirt and forcefully yanks his Scouting Legion jacket off his shoulders. When the tight, canvas sleeves catch on the back of the boy's elbows, she wrenches against the fabric even harder, ripping a startled cry from the boy's lips. She tosses the garment sacrilegiously to the side and before the blond can break away to retrieve it, she catches the boy by his chest and shoves him towards the cold, hard bed. She pins Armin with a forced, deadly smile.
Everything she's doing is merely learned from overheard stories and whispers from Hitch and Reiner and she hates the awkward inexperience of it all. Still, judging by the startled, flustered expression on the boy's flushed face, she assumes he hasn't had very much practice in that department either.
Annie feels the soft heave of his chest beneath her knees as it rises and falls with each painful gulp of air. His breath comes out in puffs against her face as he struggles to maintain an even breathing pace. Although he is struggling to breathe, his face is not completely lost to fear or any other intended reaction. Annie bits her lip slightly, disappointed and at loss for what to do next.
"Annie—" he interrupts in a startled, high-pitched yelp. "Wha—"
She can see his bare skin through the folds of his thin linen shirt. The idea strikes her and she reaches down, snapping off the first button with a nimble finger. As his shirt falls open slightly, she notices a darker, more violent bruise glaring up at her. She presses her palm against the wound and shoves down as hard as she can against the damaged skin.
Armin arches his back and sucks in his breath through gritted teeth. He squeezes his eyes tight and bits his lips to prevent himself from crying out in pain again. He still refuses to show weakness and Annie respects him slightly for it.
When Annie releases the pressure from his chest and sits back on his lean abdomen, Armin slows his pained gasping and blearily opens his eyes. They focus on her after a moment of hesitation and Annie knows that her victory is within her grasp.
She leans forward again, placing a dangerous hand on either side of Armin's tousled blond hair. She lowers her chapped lips to the boy's face, hovering only a few inches from his own soft lips. She can feel his warm breath against her face. Her fingers twine in his thick, silky hair and she pulls it nearly from his scalp. He cringes and tries with little success to pull his head away.
"Why do you keep insisting that I'm a good person?" she murmurs in a low voice. His eyes are unfocused and confused and she waits for his blue gaze to settle on hers before she goes in for the kill. She gently presses her lips against his for a second before her stony, slashed grimace morphs into a triumphant smirk against his slackened mouth. She licks the edge of her teeth before biting down hard on his soft lips, relishing the wince that shudders through his body and the sensation of flesh ripping between her razor sharp canines. She immediately drops her attack and slides off of the boy, stalking away with a blank expression. She spits into the corner of her cell, hoping to rid herself of the faint taste of his mouth.
Armin pulls himself into an upright position on the bed and rubs at his chest dazedly from where she had shoved down on it earlier. His lips are pursed closed in an unhappy frown and stained with crimson. Small traces of blood leak down his lips and onto his chin, but a majority of the liquid pools on his puffy, torn lips. Annie irately notices that his eyes are still bright and determined after her latest turn, if not more.
"Do you want to know why I still believe in you?" he starts quietly. Annie regards him with a disinterested, half-lidded stare. Internally, she feels her emotions churn violently, wondering what he can possibly counter with that could be worse than what she just did.
He stands up and takes a step towards her. "Because I'm still here," he begins. "Because I'm still alive," he whispers, stepping even closer until he's only a foot away. "Because I can do this," he hesitates and then leans forward, catching the girl on the lips with his own bloody, shredded mouth. Where Annie's contact with his mouth was quick, purposeful, and impersonal, Armin's exchange is lingering and uncertain. He presses harder against her mouth with his own, ignoring the sting as his cuts scrape across the girl's chapped lips.
Annie can taste the bitter, salty iron of his blood and even as she tries to pull away, the horrible taste follows her. She knows the taste of her own blood from countless training sessions with her father, but Armin's is different. Sweeter. Lighter.
She breaks away with a gasping grunt and curls her trembling fingers into fists. "You think because I haven't killed you—that's the proof that I'm a good person?"
He eyes her carefully, weighing each word delicately on his tongue. "Perhaps," he repsonds.
Annie narrows her eyes. She agreed to play this game on a bored whim, thinking it would never become passionate, thinking one of them would surrender before it ever got to emotions and mind tricks. She never realized previously how personal this would have become, but she knows now that she should have expected it.
"The only reason I didn't kill you either of those times was because I was weak. I'm stronger now," she states firmly, meeting the boy's gaze with a daring stare of her own.
Armin sighs and Annie catches a weariness pass through his gaze. He's tired of playing this game as well. He wants to end it just as she wants it to be over. She knows his final strike is imminent.
"Prove it then." His tone is tired, apathetic. He no longer cares about who wins anymore.
Annie hesitates just long enough to wonder if he's trying one last time to manipulate her. Her mind drifts back to their earlier conversation. Do I trust him? That's what he wanted to know? Annie steals away any doubt or conflicting emotions and steps menacing towards the taller teen. Despite her height disadvantage, she easily grasps his neck and shoves him forcefully against the stone wall at the back of her cell. His head bangs against the cold rock and he grimaces in pain and from the shock. She feels the icy coldness of the cell radiate through dank stone and threaten to suffocate her. She half-wonders if she is the one who is choking, despite her tight grasp around his warm, pulsing neck. She has to stand on her toes to maintain her powerful grip.
She glances back to his face and notes with a faint frown that Armin's eyes are tightly closed. She loosens her grip around his trachea slightly and waits for him to look at her again. He slowly pries his eyes open and blinks down at her. For the first time during their game, fear finally flickers through the boy's blurry blue eyes and Annie feels victorious.
"Are you afraid of dying?"
He blinks once, then twice. He tries to shake his head, but the girl's grip on his windpipe is too strong. She realizes for the first time since she shoved him against the wall that he didn't try to fight his looming death. His fingers and hands dangle weakly to the side—they did not scramble weakly against her grip as she expected.
"Afraid…" he gasps. She loosens her hold around his neck slightly to allow him to finish his statement. "Afraid…of being…wrong…" he pants cryptically.
It takes the blonde a second to realize what he means by his comment. When she figures it out, a snarl rises on her lips. He thinks I'm still a good person.
It would be so simple, she reasons. Snapping his neck or letting him suffocate slowly, painfully.
She tightens her iron grip around his windpipe, causing the taller teen to arch his back against the stone wall in a reflexive pre-death throe.
Only a few more seconds and she would be free forever. Free from him and free from her cell.
As she leans forward into the kill, she can feel the weakening pulse of his blood as it pounds relentlessly against her strong fingers. She wills his heart to stop its beating of the crimson lifeblood through his body and simply settle into a long, permanent rest.
One simple action and he could be dead, lying limp and lifeless at her feet. It would only take a few moments for her to fish the keys from his cold corpse and sneak out of the prison door.
She can feel the shuddering of his windpipe and his lungs as they threaten to give out on him. The boy squeezes his eyes shut, rolling the back of his head weakly against the stone wall. Hs entire face is consumed by a grimace of pain and discomfort. Annie tilts her head and studies the blond for a moment, finding him strangely beautiful in his impending death. His face is pale, causing the angry red slice along his cheek to vibrantly stand out. His lips themselves are blue and trembling, although they appear faintly violet with the addition of the thickly pooled crimson leaking out of the corner of his mouth. His dark eyelashes flicker sporadically and Annie can see his roving, sightless blue gaze when the eyelids reflexively roll back on themselves. Each thud against her fingers slows down and she waits in silence, knowing it'll only be a few more seconds and her problems will be solved. She will be the one to wi—he peeks at her one last time through heavy lids, his blue eyes unfocused yet sincere—
Damn him!
As if controlled by an unseen force, Annie yanks her hands away from their tight grip around the boy's windpipe and she stumbles backwards, reeling from an invisible blow. Armin slumps to the ground, gasping and nearly unconscious as the air darts painfully back into his deflated lungs. He rests on his hands and knees, heaving loudly in the quiet cell. Annie presses herself back further against the wall, staring at her own dirty and blood stained hands with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Eventually, the blond on the ground recovers enough to stop gasping and resort to weak coughing. She avoids looking at him directly, but Annie can see the pattern of violet marks of her iron fingers around his throat. To her it is simply another badge of weakness. A sign of her humanity.
"I would like you to leave," she hears herself murmur in a faint, dazed whisper. Her voice sound young and too high-pitched to be hers, but she feels her lips dully move with each syllable pronounced. Armin doesn't answer, but after another moment of composing himself, the blond teen slowly rises unsteadily on his feet, stoops down to pick up his discarded jacket, and exits without another backward glance behind him. The heavy door closes with a loud, brittle bang, leaving Annie alone in her cell once more.
She slumps to the ground in a kneeling position before crawling weakly to the edge of her bed.
Damn him! she echoes again in her mind, smashing her trembling fist forcefully against the hard corner of her uncomfortable bed. She neither winces nor screams as her knuckles explode in a gush of crimson; rather, she stares down at the injury with a numbed, blank expression.
She can still taste the iron of his blood on her tongue.
Just another loss that they can both share.
Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear about how I did. Do you like this kinky, romance stuff? Should I write more Dark!AruAni or just keep fluctuating between angst and fluff?
You guys know my unfortunate track record with "epilogues," but let me know if you ever want this to be continued.