I deserved every punch in the face, every cuss, every glare. I walk into work with my hoodie on. I've thought about quitting since Davine broke up with me two weeks ago. When I get home, Steve is waiting for me with a beer. I open it and only take a few sips before putting it down. After telling him everything there was to tell about what happened with Davine, I told him not to mention her again. But it doesn't help me—I'm not over her. I just need to talk to her. I shower passively. There's a bruise on the bridge of my nose that's finally fading from where she punched me. It's a reminder of what I did to her, and I know that the pain is slight in comparison to what I did. Steve knocks on the door. I let him keep knocking before wrapping a towel around my waist and walking past him to my room. Davine won't answer my calls. She's been sleeping on her couch, crying herself to sleep again. I can't stop watching her, and I can't stay away. If she'd just give me a chance to explain myself, maybe she would find a way to be at peace, if not let me be in her life. As I watch her sit there watching the evening news from my spot on the roof, she's inspiration to me.

I've rewritten this note at least fifteen times, over and over again. I can't get the words quite right. This one is now five pages long. I'm trying to tell her everything, about how I was brainwashed, how I wasn't in control, and despite that, how she had every right to hate me. I tear the pages off the notepad and fold them neatly. I know there's no way I'll get within a foot of Davine without enduring another physical and/or verbal attack. I can't imagine what she's going through, but it's bad for me because I haven't been sleeping at all. I'm starting to look like a zombie because of it. I decide to wait until Davine goes to work in the morning. I'll wait for somebody to come out of the building and take the elevator up to her place, and I'll just slip the letter under her door. I wonder whether she'll actually read it. I really hope she will. I'll have no way of knowing unless she decides to start talking to me again.

I ponder staying there at her door and waiting until she gets home. No, that's a stupid ass idea, James. She'll probably call the cops on you. And for once, I really listen to my subconscious and leave after sitting in front of her door for hours. I walk past the salon where Davine works and decide to go in. It's a little after five and I don't really know if she'll even be there. And if she is, she'll have to talk to me, or at least look at me. I don't really know. The receptionist with the big hair doesn't smile at me too big as I approach her. I'm already looking past her to see who's left cutting and coloring at this time of day.

"She's moving out of state. She told me to tell you in case you came by. Turned in her resignation a few days ago."

"Huh?"

The receptionist called Salina—that's what her nametag says—stands up, leaning in towards me slowly, lowering her voice.

"You were Davine's boyfriend, right? I'm guessing she didn't tell you she's moving."

I stand there dumbfounded. Were. It stings like a bastard.

"I'm sorry. And she's not here, anyway. We're about to close, so…"

I sigh and turn on my heel, walking outside where it's practically night already. This couldn't possibly be happening. I saw her last night. I wonder then if she's even still there. Did she get my note? On my way back to Steve's, I can't stomach the unknown anymore. I make my way to Davine's. When I pause to listen outside her door, I can hear the television. Did she lie about moving? Did she hate me so much that she decided to quit her job and go into hiding? With hesitation at first, I knock.

"…Just a second."

I hear shuffling around before the door swings open and Davine brandishes a knife in my face. I put my hands up as if to surrender. She already knew it was me at the door. She was prepared. I didn't come here thinking it wasn't possible that she'd react like this.

"I've said all I need to say to you," she says angrily.

"Davine—"

"Don't you ever say my name again," she says, narrowing her eyes.

"Did you get my note?"

She glances at the little table just inside the door, beside the coat rack. She didn't even open it, but I'm relieved to see that it's not torn to shreds. I take the opportunity to grab her wrist, while she's distracted, and angle the knife away from me, but she manages to slash my hand with it and I hiss at the sting for a moment as she takes a giant step back. I let myself in.

"Do it, then." I remain calm and collected as I make my way towards her. Instead of trying to take a stab at me, she starts crying. My hand bleeds warmly and it begins to drip on Davine's floor.

"Is everything you told me a fucking lie? What kind of demon are you?" she asks. She keeps the knife at the ready, even as I take my steps towards her and she takes her steps back.

"I know. I know, I lied. But not about everything—"

"Shut the fuck up," she growls.

"You never let me explain—"

"There is nothing to explain! Olivia is dead because of you. Now get the hell out before I—"

"Then do it."

Her eyes widen.

"Do it, if it'll make you feel better, but trust me, you and I both know how it changes you to kill…I didn't have a choice."

"Why did you have to make me believe that you actually cared about me?" she asks, her face twisted in an agony that I can't stand to look at. The tears are warm on my face.

"The least you fucking owe me is an explanation for that," she says.

"That was never a lie, Davine," I admit, "Don't tell me you believe that the way I feel is a lie." She stares at me for a moment before kicking me in the chest and straddling me. She screams at me to stop talking, and I just close my eyes as she presses the knife to my throat. At the same time, she won't stop crying, and then she starts telling me she hates me, and all this hurts more than any knife ever could have. After a while, I realize she can't bring herself to put me out of my misery. The knife clatters to the floor somewhere beside my head and I finally open my eyes. She cups my face, spewing her hatred in emphasis.

"I don't need you to haunt me, too. I don't want any more ghosts," she says.

"I wish I'd never met you," she breathes, the anger still present. I don't care what she's saying anymore. I lift up my head and pull hers towards me, and she gasps, grasping my wrists with uncertainty. I kiss her, like it's the last time I'll ever do it. She doesn't even pull back, despite clawing into my flesh wrist with clear intent to try and draw blood. Davine whimpers into my lips and I sit up slowly, until I can wrap my arms around her. She pushes against my chest halfheartedly. I move to her neck and she starts cussing me out again, telling me to get the fuck out. I'm not really listening anymore. Her skin sizzles against my lips and she gasps erotically when I suck at her throat.

"This wasn't a lie," I whisper. She slaps me hard and I just ignore it and continue afterwards. She stops squeezing so hard on my chest and trying to push me away. Instead, she's sighing in what sounds to me like pleasure as I continue on her neck and chin, nipping gently. She keeps telling me she hates me, but it doesn't stop her moaning and sighing. She says she hates me, but her body tells me otherwise. Soon enough, I pick her up and make my way to the bedroom. I didn't plan on it going this way, I just wanted to kiss her one more time, but when I did it, I couldn't stop…She feels hot and wet inside and her nails clawing into my back cause me no pain as I pull her hips closer. Davine throws her head back and gasps. I don't remember the last time I had sex. It must have been at least seventy years ago. Oh god. I close my eyes tight and give a thrust upwards from where I'm sitting on the bed between Davine's legs. She moans out loud so I keep going. She allows her forehead to fall against mine and I can see the anger ever present in her eyes as a myriad of choppy swears emanate from her mouth.

She licks her lips and grinds into me, meeting my thrusts, beckoning me deeper. Oh shit…don't come yet—you just started…I grip Davine by the arms and push her onto her back, breathing, sighing.

"Just let me tell you what really happened," I whisper before kissing between her eyes, her chin as it juts skywards and she angles her hips up at me with anticipation. She pulls at my lower back in desperation, tacitly begging me to come back. She even guides me back in and wraps her arms around my body. It felt good to be held. I needed every second of it. I roll my hips forward and catch a glimpse of our naked bodies entangled in the mirror on the dresser. She's moaning more than I am, shaking like a leaf beneath me. She bites into my shoulder for a few seconds as I slow down a moment, wanting to drag this out for as long as I possibly can; I'm afraid she'll still be pissed at me when we're done. She cups my face and a bead of sweat drips down my temple and lands on her chest.

"I love you—that was never a lie," I admit, and this feeling grips me, this deep tingling sensation that causes me to pause. She squeezes me so tight that I can't pull out, and I know I'm done. She sings beneath me and what a sight it is to behold. Davine's cheeks glow, and every inch of her skin responds to my touch. She curses at me again, holding onto me the tightest yet. She'd gotten much wetter and I knew my mission was complete.

"Don't you believe me?" I breathe. Slowly, the tears escape her eyes again and she finally looks up at me. She growls and pounds upon my chest like she hates me.

"Get the fuck off me," she cries. I know she doesn't mean this. I pin her arms down before she can hit me in the face again.

"Look at me," I beg. It's written all over my face. I know that she can see it, see how sorry I am.

"It wasn't me. It was him…I'm not that ghost anymore."

"Shut up."

"It's me, Davine. You know me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes. Yes you do. Just look at me."

After a moment of crying with her eyes closed, she looks up at me and stops. I push the hair off her forehead and kiss it. She just stares at me in silence, probably coming to terms with the gravity of what we've just done. She wouldn't have let me if she hated me so much. Something tells me she no longer has space left for hate inside her.

"Start talking," she says.