He closes his eyes the first time they kiss and it makes it okay. The second time, he squints and finds she looks like herself and no one else. The third time he keeps his eyes open and likes what he sees. Her skin is soft and warm against him, sweat slicking their bodies as he moves inside her, reaching for the moment of completion, of little death that takes him from this place into another. It is on this spiritual journey she says she loves him, and his cracked soul sucks up the water of her kindness, but he can't say it back because she still looks like herself, and no one else.
It is early morning, the sun just cresting the water so it sets the world ablaze with promise and hope, when he sees the new her. She is white alabaster colored with crimson and gold, her arms and cunt like a sweet siren of release. He makes no promises, tells her he isn't free, but he knows she doesn't believe him, not really, because she can't sense the ghosts trailing behind him with leering grins. It is in her warm embrace he calls out another, just for a moment, to see if blood would well at the feel of that name freed from the barrier of his lips. The edges are jagged and broken, but fall as softly as tears from a fissured heart.
There is no one else, he lies, just you baby, just you. She's young and innocent enough to believe, still waiting for the prince to rescue her from a hundred years' sleep. His heart is buckled and bleeding, but he knows (hopes) she can save him, she can bring him out of the darkness and the land of dead he's immersed himself in for so long, but she doesn't understand his laughter or his tears and he leaves her fractured upon the bed.
Only when he faces himself in the mirror does he see his cat-souled girl, fingers clawing at his shoulders desperately, drawing his blood in her haste and pleasure. He smiles so sweetly when their eyes connect, and she beckons him into her world, the one he thought he didn't need, and yes, finally, yes, I love you, and I"m coming home. Her arms open as easily as her thighs and he drowns in the midst of her love.
Spanning years, and continents. Lives ruined and blood shed. Fucking epic! is the truthful lie he drunkenly confessed one night, never daring to believe she wouldn't be there in the morning's light. She was always there, always push-pulling her way in and out of his heart and bed, until one day she never came back. Never returned his calls. Haunts his dreams for the chances lost and never found.
Yes, Veronica, I'm finally coming home.