Warning: violence, cursing, sexual situations
Pairing: Creek
Song: I Hate You by Sick Puppies

Craig

Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as he leans against the wall. He's cowering away from me. Little whimpers escape his mouth. It's music to my ears and I'll hear it in my nightmares. It's times like these that I can never decide if I hate him more than anything or love him with all of me. He just makes it so hard to do either all the time. I always end up hurting him out of confusion. Lashing out in moments of weakness. Why does he just take it? He should just stand up for himself. Then maybe I wouldn't feel so confused.

The sound of my hand across his cheek echoes in our small apartment. The sound of me embracing him does not. I can feel his tears on my shirt and suddenly I'm in love. With the pain? With the turmoil? I don't know. I just can't lose him. This feeling cuts through my bones; I can never leave. Life is this now. I don't have the strength to change it.

His sobs are muffled by my chest. God, he feels so fragile. His spine digs into my arms around him. He doesn't deserve this. My love is just hurting him, I'm just hurting him. There's nothing for him here. There will never be anything but a hateful love. We are not pure at all. We are cataclysmic and deadly. It's only a matter of time before we blow up our entire world. I'm going to prevent that though. I'm going to leave tonight.

Before I can pull away, he throws his arms around my neck and crashes my lips onto his. The kiss is sloppy and oh so sweet. He tastes like coffee and cigarettes. I'm sure I do too. My tongue flicks against his lower lip. He immediately opens his mouth to give me control. I stagger back until I hit the back of the couch, tumble over the top. He's straddling me now and my legs are bent over the top of our ratty green sofa. Shirts are being pulled off, zippers come undone, and we seal our sins.

The world around us is hot and heavy. Lips are latched onto my neck, eliciting deep sounds I didn't know I made. I'm not alone in moaning, though. My hips move with his and he's groaning against my flesh. I feel blood welling up from beneath his talented mouth. His tongue laps at it. He's got a bit of a blood fetish, but I don't really mind. I've got a bit of a pain fetish.

Hours later we're sweaty and panting, entangled on the cushions. Thin moonlight streams through the one window in the living room. It was rough and angry love. Just a way to vent without words, but I don't feel better. I'm still unsatisfied as he sleeps. Is it that he's not enough? That scares me. I have to stay with him. If he's not enough for me, I could do something terrible.

I wake up to the pale morning sun and the first thing I notice is that he's not here. The absence of his tangled blond hair falling across my chest and cool skin on mine is prominent. My heartbeats are immediately erratic. He's gone. Oh my god, he's left me. I'm alone. He's dead or been taken and I'll never get him back. Where the fuck is he? I could kill him. He knows I hate it when he leaves and he's gone and I'm alone.

Suddenly I hear the coffee maker in the kitchen. He's just in the kitchen making his addiction. I swear we probably spend more money on coffee than we do food. With a quiet groan, I roll off the couch and drag myself into the kitchen. There he is at the counter. He's still naked as he watches the near black liquid drip into the pot. It's an immediate turn on to see him like this, twitching a little yet still so comfortable with his body.

"I hate you, you know," comes his shaky voice. His eyes are still on the coffee. "You're-nngh- awful, Craig. You hurt me all the d-damn time. I hate you." Is it sad that this comes as no surprise? My love is volatile. He can say he loves me like coffee and then tell me he wishes I were dead. No matter what, he knows I feel the same. I walk to him and wrap my arms around his waist, let my face drop into the crook of his neck. "I hate you, too," I whisper to his skin before I kiss it.

He doesn't have time to respond because I whirl him around and throw him to the floor. A cry escapes him as his head smacks against the linoleum. I give a half-smile because he looks hateful and helpless there on the floor. Sometimes I love it even more when I do this. It helps more than the angry sex, maybe because we do that all the time. Our lives consist of violence and sex and not much else.

Tweek

For all the times he hurts me, he makes me feel better than anything. An example is now that after he's made me bleed, he's making me come. He's so bipolar. He can change into a completely different person in an instant. I know I do that too, but I have to keep it contained. If we were both blowing up all the time, we would destroy ourselves.

Even though he puts me on top of the world, I don't think it's payment enough for the hell he puts me through.

Our entire relationship is hellish. He's a demon and maybe I am too for letting him do this to me. I hate him. I hate me. I hate the fact that he's like a drug: try him once and you get addicted. You can't get away.

Of course, he's not the only one to blame for our personal purgatory. He's said before that I am his addiction. He can't let me go. He hates being with me. He loves me so much. And I'm ashamed for doing this to him. All I wanted was for him to be happy, but now that want has been cruelly twisted. I still want his happiness, but if it doesn't involve me I will kill him.

Once we finish fucking, we lay on the floor to catch our breath. His body is heavy on mine. Here comes the hatred again as I see the blood dripping down his back from where my nails dug into his skin. Maybe I don't really hate him. Sometimes I think I just hate me and he makes me hate me, so I hate him. It's a vicious cycle in my mind. He's awful and beautiful and he can never leave me.

Honestly? He makes my blood race and boil in my body. He makes my heart stop. His body is that feeling you get right after you inject the serum, snort the line, inhale the smoke. That rush when it feels like you're suspended above your body and you're in a rainbow. There is only the purest of light. Then the colors blind you and you fall down the rabbit hole. He's the hole. He's the rush. He's too much sometimes.

I can't take this right now. I want to kill him so much and I don't know what to do with this feeling. The thoughts in my head are lightning as I shove him off me and straddle him. He looks confused for a moment before I slam my fist into his mouth. His head hits the linoleum, the sound echoing all around. I hit him again and again. Soon I'm just beating the sides of my fists against him. Tears leak out of my eyes. I'm screaming and he's just fucking taking it. "Do something!" I wail. "P-please! Please just -gyaah- do something, you bastard!"

His hands are on my shoulders and he slams me back in a flash. I rake my nails over his chest. He backhands me hard enough to move my head. We're punching and clawing and kicking and biting. We roll across the grubby floor. There's pain all over my body, just like last night. I can see blood smears making a trail right to us. This is what I need right now. The sex just doesn't work sometimes. There's so much confusion inside me and this is the only way I can get it out.

I love him. I hate him. I want him forever. I want him dead. He's an angel. He's a devil. He's mine.

I hate the way you make me feel.

I hate the way you make me need.

I hate it when you make me hate me.

I hate it when you make me hate you.

I love you more than anything and I never want to leave you.

I wish that you were dead and that I were dead with you.

I hate you.

I hate you more.