I was terrified, he was going to KILL me, murder me with his bare hands, beat me to death with his baseball bat, crush the life out of me with his supernatural strength, it didn't matter, I was going to die, I was going to die.

I felt his hot breath ghost over my ear as he continued speaking. "You know what I hate most about you, bitch?" he asked in a soft, dangerously even tone, and I shook my head silently. He pulled back, and his crimson eyes burned with unknown emotions as they peered through his bangs, wolflike, at mine.

Suddenly he grabbed me by the back of my hair and crushed our mouths together; I was so surprised, I couldn't even begin to try to stop him. His hard teeth clicked against my own, his hot tongue plundered my mouth, and I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks as I struggled, but not enough to break free. His right hand entwined in my hair made sure I couldn't move my head, and the other was gripping my arm so hard I could feel my bone creaking, trapping me in a sick parody of an embrace. As he pushed harder against me, I could feel my back impacting the hard glass of the phone booth as I tried to move away, but he followed right behind. I could feel his missing front tooth, his rough tongue, his slightly chapped lips on my own, EVERYTHING, and it sickened me.

My first kiss, taken by a being who personified criminals and wanted to kill me.

How fucked up was that?

He didn't give me an inch, and I began to thrash even harder, desperate for air as well as freedom. He prolonged the kiss for a good ten seconds after I began to struggle in earnest, then yanked away, and stared at me. Open hatred burned in his blood-red eyes, and he breathed raggedly.

"I HATE you." he snarled, yanking me back by the hair so that my throat was exposed and pressing against me, his eyes burning down at mine. "I HATE every fucking damn thing ABOUT you." he snarled, then plunged his mouth down for another kiss, and I let out a muffled exclamation of protest as his tongue reached all the way back to my tonsils. He pulled back and continued to glare at me hatefully. I stared back, tears welling in my eyes from fear, his rough treatment, and confusion.

He gripped my hair harder. "Pucker up sweet stuff. Papa wants some sugar." he said with an ironic sneer, and I squirmed and struggled as he slammed our mouths back together. Confusion ran rampant in my mind.

If he hated me so much, why was he kissing me so hard? Why was he even doing it in the first place? Why was he reaching his tongue all the way into the back of my mouth and twisting it around my own like a lover? Why was he kissing me so deeply that our teeth clicked together, and I could feel the missing one on the top row? Why was he holding me so tightly that I couldn't refuse his advances?

He was too warm, he was boiling hot, even through the bomber jacket and gloves that covered most of where our bodies touched, he felt like a furnace. His lips burned against mine, his skin seared my own where we connected, and through his gloves I felt the simmering heat of his body. I heard a crack nearby, outside, and he suddenly pulled away again, his chest heaving as his crimson eyes darted to the road.

They moved back to me, and he suddenly grabbed me by the neck, yanking my face close to his as my whole body froze at the aura of danger coming from him.

"You aren't going to mention this to anyone, RIGHT?" he snarled, his hand tightening dangerously on my throat, his eyes burning with barely contained rage. I croaked out an affirmative and shook my head weakly. He smirked, and suddenly slammed my head back against the wall of the booth, hard enough to bruise as tears came to my eyes.

"Something to remember me by, bitch." he whispered in my ear, and I shivered at the heat and moistness of his breath. Then he chuckled darkly and let me go, vanishing off into the night.

I looked around for what alerted him, and sure enough, Romania came tromping through the bushes with his spellbook at the ready a few seconds later, his expression fierce. He smiled in relief as he saw me though, his dark eyes secretly worried. "Hey, Arya right? I saw 2p America in the booth, are you okay?"

I reached up and cupped my throat hesitantly, feeling the lingering burn from 2p America's touch. "He…he just tried to strangle me, and he banged my head against the glass a couple times. I'm…I'm fine." I managed after a few moments, meaning not a word.

It's not right. There is no way, no circumstance, that would make this "okay" in anyone's book.

So why do I not care?

No, that's wrong. I do care. I DO. I want that bitch dead in an alley somewhere with all her limbs ripped off.

So why do I also want to kiss her brains out?

Fucking, yes, I understand fucking. If I wanted to fuck her, just fuck her, I would get that. Sexy young bitch, I have a male body, you do the math. But it's not just that. I want to KISS her too. Kissing implies attraction beyond a mere one night stand. Kissing implies I'm actually interested.

Kissing implies I don't want to kill her.

It makes me so mad, every damn time I see her it's like I can't take my eyes off her mouth, her lips, her face. She's not even that good-looking, I've had better and I've had worse, so why does it matter with HER?

But it DOES, and I HATE that.

I've got her in a chokehold now, I could kill her, I could kill her so easily, but, infuriatingly, the only thing running through my mind right now is how soft her body is and how easy it would be to steal that kiss. I hate her for that, loathe her to the core and pit of my being, but yet as I whisper venom into her ear and pull back to stare at her with hateful eyes, those lips beckon.

I don't even realize what I'm doing until I've done it, but my mouth is on hers and nothing has ever tasted so good. Her taste is the distilled, intoxicating wine of things forbidden and sacrilegious, wrong in every sense of the word. It's sweet as sugar and spicy as peppers and as I lick greedily at her mouth like a sloppy teenager lover, I realize I'm addicted from this one simple taste. She squirms and struggles, but I'm a country and she's a human, and she can't squirm free.

She's softness and sugar and cream and I just CANNOT pull away, even though every cell of my body screams to back off, to hit this bitch and crush her into a bloody pulp for what she's done to me.

But the region of my mind that controls my body quietly argues that she would taste of blood then, and not sugar.

I would miss that.

She tries to back away and I follow right behind, curling my hand in her blonde hair so that she can't jerk her head away. Right now, just for now, in this one implosive second teetering on an oblivion of shatterment, she's mine and I know she's mine, mine forever.

Then the second falls, crashes, collides, and it shatters into a million pieces and is gone as I pull away, the taste of sugar and rage lingering in my mouth as she stares at me like a cornered rabbit, utterly confused as to why I have done this thing, and terrified because I have, and haven't killed her yet. My breath is raspy, both from rage and lack of air.

"I HATE you." I snarl, yanking her back by the hair so that her throat is exposed and pressing against her, my crimson eyes burning down at her frightened brown ones. And STILL her lips beckon, half open in fright and surprise, my saliva covering them with a glossy sheen.

"I HATE every fucking damn thing ABOUT you." I finally manage, and then our lips are crashing back together, and I can't stop my tongue as it shoves into her mouth, all the way, so that I can taste her. I manage to wrench myself away more quickly and glare at her hatefully. She stares back, tears welling in her eyes from fear and other things.

I sneer and grip her hair harder. If I'm going to kiss her, then I'm going to fucking KISS her. "Pucker up sweet stuff. Papa wants some sugar." I sneer, and she squirms and struggles as I slam our mouths back together. My tongue quickly reaches all the way into the back of her mouth, twisting around her own like a lover in my greed. She makes a sound of protest, but she stops struggling, perhaps finally realizing its futile. Our teeth clink together as I press against her almost, ALMOST pliant body, and my own shivers with lust as I press against her soft curves. This is too perfect and too wrong all at the same time. I can only pray none of the others see me like this, nor any of her friends.

There was a sharp "crack" outside the booth, as if someone has stepped on a twig, and I yanked away as if I had been burned. I glanced at the road, and saw a figure with a spell book cautiously tromping through the forest.

My eyes moved back to hers and I snarled in impotent rage, grabbing her by the throat and yanking our faces close together. "You aren't going to mention this to anyone, RIGHT?" I snarl, my hand tightening on her throat to make my point, knowing that my eyes show the barely contained anger in my body. She croaked out an affirmative and shook her head weakly. I smirked, and slammed her head back against the wall of the booth, hard enough to bruise as tears came to her pretty eyes.

"Something to remember me by, bitch." I whispered in her ear, and I felt her shiver. Chuckling darkly, I let her go, vanishing off into the night.

That was the plan anyway, but when I looked back and saw her talking to that Romania asshole, I realized with a sudden and detached clarity that I don't intend to stop here, even after stealing more than my fair share of kisses. The infuriating corner of my brain, the one that pressed me to do these things, would not rest until I had claimed her utterly.

And yet I still wanted to kill her.

Kitty-Cat: Mkay… o.o

ME: What? O.o

Kitty-Cat: I dunno, its fine I guess. I still think you're f'n psycho. v.v

ME: AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A STRAIGHT WOMAN?! LOOK AT 2P AMERICA, TELL ME THAT YOU AT LEAST THINK HE'S CUTE! DX

Kitty-Cat: I'll admit he's pretty hot, but…so? -.-

ME: You…you're not straight, you're asexual. -.-'

Kitty-Cat: Whatever.