OKAY —THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH.

Soundtrack: it was coldplay but i had a change of heart. so... The Unwritable Girl - Gregory Alan Isakov

Disclaimer: nope dont own it nada.

Note: yep we're at M. we made it folks. This chapter was really hard to write, and I'm still not nearly satisfied with it :/ oh well. But I was compelled to update.

Warning: M, obviously that means more stuff than the other chapters. yeah. it may not even need the rating boost, but i personally thought it did. you can give me your thoughts.

Have fun~

The Beast I

"It's been just one dream we're livin' in.

But you're still, and you're bright, and you're quiet,

In the heart of it."

The world was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. And then came the scream.

It pierced through the sweaty air like a knife upon flesh, ripping it open so that all its entities poured out and soaked the world. The sea groaned, the forest breathed, and from behind the quivering children, a beast slept. When the scream quieted, it seemed as though the entire island shivered, heaving in one labored breath to express its disdain.

Louise realized that her dry throat could no longer cope with her shriek of anguish, and in a moment of bane confusion and blurred anger, she set her sights on Roger and pounced, toppling over with the boy beneath her. His spear rolled over to the side, disregarded with a sense of perturbed apprehension. Louise clawed at his face, her eyes obscured by tears, and then she was babbling nonsense and shrieking and screaming, feeling her lungs burning in anger. Everyone was still for a moment; nobody was quite sure whether to mind Louise or look back at Jack, who had taken on an entirely different persona. The blue eyes, which now shone like ice from his warpaint widened, and the small pinkness of his mouth fell open. He screamed, not in horror but in mutilated victory, then jabbed his spear at Ralph.

"You see!" He yelled, ignoring the sobs from the girl. Roger still struggled from beneath her; he was taken in a moment of shock. After all, he'd only just killed someone.

Someone as in a human.

A living, breathing, thinking being.

Purposefully.

Roger sneered and tossed the girl from his flailing limbs, pinning her to the ground beneath him and reaching viciously for his spear. Jack, enlightened by the stark look of fear plastered on his enemy's face, scoured closer to the rocks and shrieks. There was a violent thrash, the coarse sound of uproar, and then the deadly motion of Jack launching his spear towards Ralph — launching to kill.

Louise heard him leave. She heard him cower, turn, and run. She heard him despite the bitter sting of her tears and throb of her mind. She knew Ralph was gone, and that once again, she'd be left to the hunters' jurisdiction. The weight of Roger over her shadowed her frail frame, and as her chest heaved with sobs — Piggy, oh god, Piggy! And now Ralph...he's gone, he's gone, he's left me and he's gone...—she could practically feel his fury radiating through his sweaty skin. There's flared marks on his face from where her nails marred his flesh, but aside from that, he held no evidence of his assault. Grey eyes stirred with infatuated rage, and with his left hand, he promptly smashed his fist over her face. She shrieked; the pain was eminent, and already she could feel a bruise swelling under her eye. Her sobs proved to infuriate him more, and with his other hand, he slapped her cheek, seething at the red mark that lingered afterwards.

The hunters, torn between Piggy's demise, Ralph's humiliation, and Louise's terror, turned back and forth, glancing from their redheaded chief to the empty rocks where Piggy once stood. Then, in a great commotion, Jack moved to his second-in-command, staring in disgust at the creature that writhed beneath him. He took up his spear and growled, unsure whether to scold Roger or praise him.

"Roger!" He yelled. Roger glanced up, nodded, and arose, spitting on Louise as he went. Jack's face, flushed in anger, grew redder. "What the hell are you doing?"

Roger spat once more. "Little bitch clawed at me." He wiped his nose, almost like a child, and threw a glare at the girl. "Apparently Ralph didn't teach her place on this island." Jack's ill feelings dispersed and his reddened anger was replaced with a curling grin. Smiling, he met his friend by his side and stared down at the sobbing girl, laughing cattily at the bruises that blossomed along her eye.

"Well then. I suppose we'll have to teach her."

Louise hurt all over. From the tips of her blistered toes to her swollen, lumpy face, the girl was numb with her pain. She sat back in Jack's cave, her wrists bound tightly behind her bleeding back. Roger had momentarily left, leaving behind the shrewd whip, tethered by a mass of weeping vines, that he had so generously chosen to tear the flesh from his prey's back. Louise had expected she'd be in trouble, but somehow, and quite stupidly, it escaped her that Roger would be the one to execute such punishments. Strangely enough, his deception proved to hurt more than the whip's poisonous tips.

Louise shifted, just to make sure she still could. Her muscles groaned achingly beneath her, and there was a dull thrum in the back of her mind that simply refused to dissipate. She knew he'd be back; she could hear his voice from outside the cave. And she knew that once Roger returned, her seemingly fitting punishment would escalate.

The thought brought bitter bile to her throat. She wasn't daft; sure, she hadn't been the brightest, but she wasn't stupid. She knew what would come next. It practically melted in her captor's eye, and with each belt of the whip, the look had intensified. But with that desire came a small flurry of pity. Louise had seen it flash in Roger's expression, almost as if he wished there was a more willing way to handle things.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Roger returned, unsurprisingly accompanied by his chief, who looked as monstrously lustful as ever. It was sad, really. If Gracie had been here, Louise knew Jack wouldn't have paid her a second glance. She would be devoured, used, and assaulted, all because she was simply the only thing that could. Jack met her eyes, gazing wondrously at her wounds, and his smile contorted into poorly concealed desire. Roger shifted awkwardly from beside him—this was, after all, not how he envisioned taking Louise. Not with Jack there beside him. Not with that fuming hatred burning in his prey's eyes.

What the hell am I thinking? Roger shook his head, gripping his spear with such a force, he thought it'd snap in two. He didn't care whether or not Louise hated him or not. This was what he enjoyed doing. Taking things at his will, pleasuring himself on the expense of others. It was what he had always done. Two weeks ago, Roger would've jumped at the opportunity to have Louise like this—he wouldn't have had it any other way. But now, a swirl of guilt shadowed his vision, and with a darkened gaze, he tried to look away as Jack proceeded towards the girl.

Louise no longer fought; her legs had grown tired, and already her sore muscles felt like deadened weights on her body. Jack took his time in kneeling down beside her, appraising her with dark, icy eyes. For once, his spear was absent, which left his large, calloused hands to his bidding. His eyes glittered in such a way that Louise shivered, but she refused to permit her fear to penetrate the meager amount dignity she still held. So, with blackened eyes and a tear streaked face, she lifted her chin and met Jack's eyes, holding his gaze until that sickly stupid smirk of his slipped for just a moment.

Hopefully, she had surprised him.

Gathering himself once more, Jack inched closer and allowed his hands to ghost along Louise's bare calves. Her stockings had long ago worn away, and now her skirt remained only as a tattered little thing.

No, she thought bitterly. This shouldn't be too hard for them at all.

Jack grinned, his lips peeling back into two thin lines, and then he growled, a low, coarse thing, even for Jack. His face paint, which was obviously fresh, glistened in sweat, and with a small snicker, his hands began their assault towards her thighs.

"You'll scream for him to come save you," Jack said in a small breath, his eyes focused hungrily on Louise's bare skin. If her wrists hadn't have been bound, she would have tugged the thin material of her skirt closer to her bruised legs.

Her breath became a strangled gasp when she felt Jack's lips on her throat. His tongue roughly slithered along the curve of jaw, perhaps in a way that was intended to be seductive, but it only turned to be a slobbery mess. Louise could smell his breath, hot and rancid, and found herself resisting the urge to struggle. It won't do any good...it'll make things worse.

Jack nipped at her chin, intentionally trying to arouse the dark sort of groan that he knew Roger could sometimes force from the girl. But Louise stayed silent; aside from the tears that fell silently from her eyes, she was quiet. And that, for whatever reason, unnerved Jack to no limits.

Grunting angrily, he crushed his dry lips on the girl's and forced his tongue through her slightly stunned mouth. Her body froze from beneath him, rendering him completely lost to his own desire. He loved that feeling, that rigid tenseness of her bleeding limbs, that slight breath that seemed to reveal all Louise's fears. And yet, she tasted better than he could've hoped. Salty, almost, but perhaps that had been her tears.

Louise winced in pathetic disgust as Jack slid his tongue along her teeth, savoring the very feel of her breathing beneath him. He kissed her roughly and with sloppy care, and when he withdrew for breath, a string of saliva was caught between them. Jack laughed, his face wrinkled in complacent delight. His fingers trailed along her arms, tickling the delicate, frozen hairs there, and then he brought his nails down, scratching angry marks into her already flared skin. As much as she had tried to resist, Louise screamed, for now her heart hammered in hopeless fear and a dripping contempt. She'd never hated anyone more than Jack Merridew, and as he pried her stiff lips apart once more, she felt every muscle within her contract in panicked dread. No no no I'm not ready I don't want it to be like this not with ropes and tears and pain...

From somewhere off to the side, Roger grunted. It wasn't his usual amused, arrogant sort of grunt—if anything, it sounded somewhat agitated, as if watching his prey being devoured by Merridew was more than unnerving. A brief thought crossed Louise's mind. It was hideously appalling, but it seemed to restore the small sliver of hope that cowered down deep within the girl. Her heart raced; her mouth had gone slack under Jack's lips, and with a slow blink, she focused herself to all the courage that she still sustained.

Don't think about Piggy.

She couldn't. She couldn't think about Piggy, spiraling down from the grey summit of Castle Rock. She couldn't think about his mind splattered across the ocean floor. Or his glimmering specs, crushed and crooked in Jack's loose pocket. If she did, there was no way she would ever be able to—

Jack withdrew for a single second, and Louise seized the opportunity to breath. One breath. That's all it takes. And then Jack's mouth was back against hers, chapped and slippery with his own saliva, but Louise found herself doing the impossible.

Tentatively, she touched her tongue to his. Jack seemed stunned; his mouth fell still against her, but then his desire came back with a fury more ferocious than before. He groaned—a long, strangled thing—and pressed his groin up against her, losing himself in the feel of her mouth moving in time with his. Louise tried to remain calm about it—you're doing it, you can do this. It's okay.

And then she looked at Roger.

Jack's mouth was still plastered to hers, clanking their teeth blindly together. Louise reciprocated his kiss quite willingly; she even tried to act enthused. But her eyes, now, were locked with the dark gaze of her true hunter, the one that had so mercilessly disposed of her best friend. She stared at him and made an effort to moan into Jack's mouth. Roger's lips twitched ever so slightly, and something in his dark eyes turned ablaze into greed. Louise kept her gaze steady with his as she felt Jack palm crudely at her breast, pining for something she knew she could not give. Roger's eyes flashed, and in that moment, Louise's heart tightened beneath her chest.

Roger was speaking.

"How come you get to go first?" he asked, quite civilly, considering his temper.

Jack lazily relinquished his hold on Louise's mouth and glared up at his friend. "Because I'm chief."

Roger growled. "I got her here. If it hadn't have been for me, she'd be off fucking Ralph."

"Well she's not." Jack's lips curled into a small, thin smile, and with a cursory glance at the girl, he smirked. "And I'm chief. So I get to go first."

Roger's eyes darkened. He should be the one to take Louise. He should be the one to leave his mark. He had been hunting her since the very beginning, while Jack prowled about and dawdled in his time.

This was Roger's prey.

In a flat and colorless voice, Roger said, "This is my job to do, Chief." He added the last word as an insult, a bitter reminder that chiefdom meant nothing to Roger. He didn't have to elaborate on his loyalty to the last boy who had called himself chief.

Jack's face reddened, and silently, he began to release his perch so that he was no longer looming over Louise. The girl tried not to exhaust a breath of relief—the weight that had accompanied the seemingly slim ginger was tremendous, and the now-near-crippling fear did little to help her confidence. But her plan had gone underway; the anger in Jack's icy eyes was less than disputable.

The Chief was angry.

"Don't forget your position, Roger," Jack reminded the dark haired boy with a low growl. His red, greasy hair lay tangled and matted over his forehead, producing a near impish look.

"Don't forget your debts, Chief." Roger's retort was low and cool; he'd barely lifted his eyes.

Disgusted, Louise looked towards the cave's mouth. She loathed been bickered over like a piece of meat. It was belittling and more than offensive, but if the diversion of an argument was what it took to achieve freedom, Louise was willing to listen to anything. Jack had now risen up to face Roger, and both boys snarled at each other with animal-like aggression. She'd never seen them fight before, but she supposed anyone would fight in such a ludicrously brutish society.

The boys continued to argue, their now rising voices drifting off the cave in sharp unison. Louise's eyes were focused between the bleary chance of rolling (literally rolling) towards the cave's gaping mouth or simply biding her time with the two outraged boys. Sweat trickled down her forehead and mingled with what little tears still lingered, and momentarily, she felt as if her plan had failed her. Roger would eventually subside to his superior, and then it would be all over, all this worry and headache for nothing—

But the cave's entrance was enticing, and by now, both Roger and Jack were so engrossed in their acrimonious argument that neither of them were wary of Louise. Swallowing, she passed her tongue along her dry (and now revolting bitter) lips and breathed—slowly at first, just as her mother had always told her. Without even a second glance back at the arguing boys, Louise wriggled towards the cave's entrance and fled, although one can hardly call shimmying down the splintered surface of Castle Rock fleeing.

It took exactly thirty seconds before Jack realized Louise had slipped away—she'd been counting as she tumbled limply down the slope of Castle Rock. She heard him cry out from far above, immediately shrieking at Roger in obvious frustration. Louise squeezed her eyes shut; there was still a slim chance of escape. After all, she'd already nearly reached the place of Piggy's...departure, and Jack was still blundering by his cave.

But Jack's wrists and ankles weren't bound by a tangle of rough vines. Jack could run. He could walk. He had an entire tribe armed with spears. And Louise? If she ever managed to get back up on her feet, maybe she could hobble away. Maybe.

A few hunters gazed at her curiously, obviously impervious to Jack's coming message. It hadn't yet trickled to what looked to be Robert's post, which was on the cliff where Piggy had taken his final plunge. The cluster of small hunters, most of them younger, scratched their heads idly, unsure whether Louise was meant to be rolling away or not. It seemed in that moment as if they were just as useless as they were impulsive.

Not ten seconds had leaked by until the hunters finally realized that Louise's little show was not a ploy of entertainment. They gathered their spears and shouted manically, running after her. Louise was panicking. There was nowhere to go. Her limbs ached from where Roger had battered his spear against her flesh and Jack had clamped his meaty hands. The sharp crunch of the rocks wasn't easing her pain—they ripped her already irritated skin and tore into her groaning muscles. The bonds itched at her wrists and ankles, and for one bleary moment, Louise felt utterly incapable of hope.

But then she heard Maurice.

"Louise?"

She'd jolted to a standstill at this point, halted finally by the progressive leveling of the downward slope. A swarm of angry voices rattled from behind her, shrieking and blinded by raw anger and bittersweet euphoria. Louise blinked—once, then twice—and stared up at Maurice, only recognizable from his tangle of hair and smooth, even voice. Even in the crazed brightness of hysteria, Maurice seemed calm. He was alone, accompanied by his spear, and with one look at the broken thing below him, he almost faltered. Louise was bruised and beaten, sodden with blood and God knows what else. The boy could hear the raving roars of his tribe from behind him, and suddenly, his heart twitched in the seemingly forgotten emotion of guilt.

Softly, Maurice knelt down beside the girl and touched her shoulder. "What...what happened?" He didn't want to think it had been Jack and Roger; it wasn't a tasteful idea. He'd joined Jack for freedom, not for the suffocation of blatant abuse.

When Louise met his eyes, hers were wide and blank, empty of anything other than utter and total desperation. Quietly, she breathed, "I. Need. To. Get. Out." A pause. "Now."

He knew Jack would run rampant if he found out the truth. Maurice would be punished for sure—maybe even executed. He wasn't sure anymore. After what happened to Piggy...well...Jack—Roger—was capable of anything. A perfect product of the Socialism his school had once taught to despise. Even with the cumbersome weight of Jack's looming law wavering above his head, Maurice helped Louise up and hastily untied her bonds, releasing her chaffed and red limbs. The girl looked at him for a moment, stupefied by his impetuous kindness, and with a small nod, she took off for the woods, vanishing into the green thicket.

Maurice stood for a moment, blinded by his own blunder of selflessness, and with a breath, he looked towards where Jack now was, preparing himself for the fate that befell upon him.

Louise ran.

She ran until her legs burned, until her lungs were like two smoldering coals within her chest. She ran until the noise of Jack turned into the soft hum of flies and the crash of waves became the noiseless whisper of the trees. She ran until Piggy's head reformed into itself in her mind, until the forest became a blanket and the throbbing within her head was only a soft, feathery pillow. She was tired, exhausted, but her heart was intent on escape.

There was a noise from somewhere close by, a soft crack that was barely audible over the girl's strangled, heaving breaths. Her body tensed and her neck was rigid. If there was one thing she had learned from Roger, it was to always assume the worst. It could just be a pig. Or maybe Jack. Perhaps it was a littlun. Or Roger.

Louise shivered. If she was caught now, the punishment that would entail her would be something far worse than anything Jack could have done before. He would be livid—

The noise sounded again, although this time closer. Louise brought her hand close to her chest—a meager attempt at looking somewhat defensive—and waited. It seemed foolishly stupid, waiting until an unknown predator lurked from the woods. But it was the only rational thing Louise think to do. Everything felt very heavy, as if it were shrouded with blurry darkness. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and for one brief, dismal moment, she couldn't think.

But then she saw Ralph.

He mirrored her look of clouded fear, and with a slight notion of disbelief, he peered towards her in incredulity.

Slowly, almost as if he was afraid to speak, Ralph softly murmured, "Louise?"

And then she was in his arms, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her head in the soft slope of his shoulder. He stumbled back, caught his balance, and wrapped his arms around her small torso, clutching her close as if she might suddenly evaporate into thin air. It took a moment before he realized that she was sobbing, her warm, bitter tears staining his bare skin. Ralph felt his own cheeks glisten with the burning mark of tears, and through broken, shaken breaths, he held the girl close and allowed his heart to fall in accordance with hers.

Louise was afraid to let go of him. She was afraid that when she did, he would fall away. It was a incessant fear that itched at her heart, and if she'd wanted to, perhaps she may have scratched at it. But she was afraid at what might leak out if she did. It just felt so surreal to be held in Ralph's arms, swallowed up by his warm, safe embrace. She felt that if she blinked, she might wake up tied up in the cave back at Castle Rock.

But there was no danger now. There was only Ralph, Ralph and his pretty blonde hair and soft blue eyes.

And then there was Piggy.

She found herself sputtering nonsense. "Piggy...I...he...we have to find him...he could be hurt..."

Ralph held her tighter. There was nothing else he could say, and he knew it. It had crossed his mind more than once that Piggy was alive and alright, that Roger hadn't really jarred that boulder because that was wrong and savage and murder...

He didn't allow his thoughts to linger on murder. He'd allowed that for far too many times over the course of the past night, and it hadn't earned him any favors.

Grimly, Ralph lifted himself away from Louise, if only to meet her eyes. They were there, dark blue and washed in sorrow, gazing up at him in a fury of hope and despair. The boy swallowed; he'd almost forgotten how much he missed those eyes, and then he took her hand. Her skin was afire with his touch.

"I have a place we can go," he said quietly. Louise was primarily unsure of what he meant, but then she realized it was just them and that Jack would eventually come looking for her. That's right. They needed to hide now. The hunt had commenced.

Ralph led Louise through the denseness of the jungle, pausing only to make sure that she was alright. He'd wrought a few injuries from Jack himself; his left eye was already swollen and purple, and there was a gash on the side of his stomach that he knew would later require attention. But for now, his focus was Louise—Louise with her matted hair and too clear eyes, Louise with battered and bloodied flesh and dirty skin, Louise with her tattered garments and bare legs...

Ralph shook his head.

The sky had melted into late afternoon, and by now, they had reached a small sloping hill, littered with feathering bushes and and tiny, sharp dangerous rocks. They moved hastily through the leafage, ignoring the thorns that snagged at their already threadbare clothes. Finally, Ralph stopped and gestured shyly at hole in the foliage, a hole that was conveniently perfectly matched to the boy's body shape. Silently, Ralph pushed Louise towards the improvised entrance, and with a cautionary glance around, he followed.

Ralph's hiding spot was nothing to brag about. If anything, it was poorly thought of and even slightly senseless, but Louise didn't have the mind to linger upon its possible repercussions. It was shelter, and as far as she was concerned, shelter was shelter, even if it only was a brittlely concealed scar in the forestry. Surrounded by the denseness of trees and shrubs, the duo seemed safely hidden for the time being—but there was no telling what would happen when Jack Merridew had his league of vivacious hunters sniff the area out.

But for now, it would do.

Feeling the effects of her aching body for the first time, Louise sank to her knees and groaned, utterly consumed with the ever constant pinching pain in her limbs. Even her mouth felt sore from where Jack had so callously pried her lips apart. At the memory, Louise began to shake. It was awful to think that she had allowed him such pleasures in the desperate need to attain freedom. And Roger...

Thoughtlessly, Louise murmured, "I trusted him."

She hadn't realized that she meant Roger, and it only took a few moments for it dawn upon her. She had trusted Roger, surely more than she should have. Piggy's barbarous demise flickered once more before her eyes, and then she saw Jack, eyes obscured by his lustful ambition to hunt, and she couldn't control herself—she began to sob. The tears slipped from her eyes, scraping through the dirt and grime that now coated her face. She looked out into the pale pink sky and saw nothing but blood, blood and gruel.

"Simon's gone."

Ralph's voice, despite its certain softness, seemed to crack through the air, leaving Louise feeling stunned and uncertain. She looked up at the blonde through her tears, staring at his blurry silhouette. Her lips fell apart as if to speak, but before she could, Ralph had already begun blathering.

"It was dark...and...I couldn't see very well...we got caught up...there was a fire...and that Jack...he was yelling and screaming and I'd never felt more freedom in my entire life...but...but then Simon came...it was really stupid, see...he came from the woods and...and we couldn't see...it wasn't our fault...we couldn't see..." His voice ended on an endearing note, breaking at the end with a fracturing highness. The noise around their small circle of silence dispersed. Ralph was breathing heavy, broken breaths, and the initial shock of his words had begun to strip itself from Louise.

Louise faltered. "But—but you didn't...it was Jack...Simon's okay, isn't he?"

Ralph was quiet. His dark blue eyes fumed in sorrowful regret, shadowed by the darkness of the shaded trees. Louise's heart felt as if it was to burst. No. Roger had been a monster. Jack had been a monster. But Ralph? He couldn't possibly be like them...he couldn't.

Because if he was, that left Louise with nothing.

With swollen eyes, she stared at the boy, trying her best to piece his shattered expression. The flittering light made everything seem somehow more grey, and with a muffled groan, Louise attempted to turn her bruised back to him–a pitiful show of her ill feelings. Ralph sighed, feeling dense with his own regret, and slowly moved to towards her. She held her lips in a thin line and stared at him in appalled fear, trying to imagine how those safe hands could have hurt a human being, how they could have ever stolen life from a breathing body...

Ralph noted Louise's wounds with pale concern. He reached out to touch her quivering arm, but his palm fell flat against his knee. For once, it felt as though he couldn't make everything better—he couldn't stitch Louise back together, piece by shattered piece, until she was whole again. They were both broken, both torn from one another, and with a silent sob, the realization of their likely demise dawned upon him. It was a cruel, grotesque thought, to think that they had come so far only to die anyway. But everyone would die eventually, even that damned Merridew. Everyone had to die someday. That day just seemed to approach faster for some people.

Ralph sucked in a breath and left his hand hovering over Louise's arm, teasing his skin with her jolting touch. She still refused his gaze, focusing instead on harrowing darkness that seemed to engulf their small slice of solace. The boy hesitated, but finally relinquished his fear to desire, and slowly, he allowed his hand to graze past the tiny hairs on her arm. It was instant, the fire that burned beneath their slight touch. Like wood kindled to flame. She smoldered beneath him, losing whatever begrudging apathy she may have felt before.

With bright and suddenly enraptured eyes, Ralph curled his fingers around her slim wrist, feeling her very bones quivering beneath his touch. It was wondrous, the way his hand seemed to burn her, almost as if his fingertips trailed with the soaring rage of fire. Suddenly, it seemed as though the throbbing pain of her wounds was dissipating, and with wide, clearly intrigued eyes, she lifted her chin to meet his gaze, turning in so that her shoulder collided softly with his chest. Ralph stifled a groan; his eyes watered with the itch to gasp, and as Louise raised her hands to softly touch his flustered cheeks, he felt himself break. Everything, anything, that had once tethered him by iron restraints were released, and in that moment, Ralph finally decided what he truly wanted.

Ralph wanted Louise.

Carefully, as if not to startle her, he touched his lips to hers, melting as everything began to pour into place. It seemed so surreally natural for them now, for their lips to graze, stammer, and then meet again, this time only with intensified desire. Louise took Ralph's lip between her own, shivering at his warmth, and allowed their mouths to fold into one. His tongue passed over her mouth, teasing her with his sweet taste. Minutes became allusions of time, and with each dragging second, Ralph and Louise fell farther into each other. She tasted bittersweet, like ashes and honey. Like triumph and tears.

Slowly, her hands moved from his face to his firm shoulders, indulging in the simple steadiness of his form. He was like a rock—her rock. Ralph kept her anchored to reality, bound against the blurry shame that would become insanity. Without him, she would break, and yet with him, she felt herself shattering.

His kisses intensified—they were longer, with each suppressed moan came an equally fervent desire. It exploded from within them, showering them in its fire of lust, and as Ralph drew his tongue about Louise's teeth, she felt her wits erupt. Her hands drifted from his shoulders to the contours of his chest, touching each indent and slope with absent minded affection. His arms encircled her body, taking each fleeting moment as a gift. Their noses bumped, but not a noise was uttered. Ralph withdrew his mouth from her own, feeling his heart hammer loudly against his chest when she groaned at the separation. His lips were cold and moist from where hers had been, and with a rush of heat, he trailed hungry, desperate kisses along her jawline, although he knew his appetite could never really be satiated. He was empty for her; he lips, his heart, his mind...they were all hollow. Vacant. Void. Empty without Louise.

So he devoured her, trailing his tongue along her neck. He closed his eyes, knowing Roger's mark would be there screaming at him, and with a sudden surge of endearment, he kissed Louise lightly. Her heart beat against his, as if it was the only thing to beat for. She fluttered helplessly, arching herself into him, and with a grunt, Ralph nearly lost control of himself. They toppled over, Ralph struggling to remain above her, and with eager, shaking hands, he reached for her thin, tattered shirt.

Louise was battered, broken from herself and broken from her exploits. She froze, rigid and stale, when his fingertips ghosted her stomach, dipping in below her shirt, but her flaring anger was countered by the burn of his touch. It spread, hot and electric, through her aching body, and with a poorly suppressed groan, she lay quavering as Ralph's hands strayed from her stomach and towards her chest. His lips returned to hers, as if to assure her of his devout affections, and she stilled. Ralph's hands, tentative but ardent, found themselves at her breasts. Louise felt dangerously warm. She made a small noise, and Ralph sought that as her consent. He moved his lips against hers, growing precariously close to the edge of oblivion, and in unrequited unison, his hands touched her breasts, feeling every slope and curve as if to memorize her form. She smiled beneath his kiss; her happiness, although gilded by blind infatuation, dizzied her heart, and for one single moment, the raw and thickening pain of Piggy and Simon's deaths seemed to lessen. Her burdens were lifted; each touch, each soft groan and kiss, alleviated her heavy heart. So when Ralph audaciously pulled her torn and ragged blouse from over head, she had little to complain about it. His mouth was everywhere at once; her neck, her collarbone, the small slope of her stomach...and then his hands. The touched her thighs, growing treacherously close to where her skirt met her skin. But even then, they didn't stop.

They both realized what was going to happen. It almost felt like a cold, cruel slap in the face. Their dignity, their pain, their sense had been reduced to this. But it was alright, because when it happened, Louise knew it would happen fast. And it would be bliss.

Ralph, his blonde hair mussed and disheveled, peeked up with his dark blue eyes, his lips parting from her tingling flesh. Her heart sunk at his hesitation; she could sense that he was feeling bashfully unsure, and with reddened cheeks, he forced her gaze to his.

"L-Louise..." His voice was hoarse and strained, so blatantly troubled by his innate disagreements. He could already feel himself growing restless; sure, there had been dreams, but he'd never experienced it like this.

Louise smiled, although it felt unnatural. "Yes?" She found her that voice sounded breathlessly similar. It was queerly discontenting to hear herself that way.

Ralph paused, purposefully fixing his eyes away from Louise. She managed not to grin; tempting, is it, Ralph? Even the golden Ralph has his weaknesses...

"I-I don't think..." His voice was lost. "I mean—are you sure?" It was a pitiful attempt at reason, and a crude one at that. Louise's smile tightened. Her fingers found his hair, and with bright, damp eyes, she nodded at him.

Louise had been right. It happened fast.

Everything had been a blur, and through the pain that nearly split her body in two, she found warmth. Warmth in Ralph, who moved above her, whose mouth would momentarily brush her own, a vague reminder that he wasn't Jack, he wasn't Roger. He was Ralph. The bliss, although delayed, followed after the pain dimmed. It exploded like rain behind her eyes, shimmering throughout her soiled, tattered body. It was strangely perplexing how someone else could do that to her. How someone could cause so much pain and beauty at the same time.

After, when Ralph collapsed heavily upon her chest, she threaded her fingers through his sweaty, matted hair, listening in sightless affection as his heavy breaths softened into gentle, boyish snores. Louise wondered how he found sleep so easily, how he could sleep with knowledge of Simon's murder and Piggy's fall, how he could sleep after they—

She couldn't say the word. She knew it, surely, but she couldn't say it. It felt so much more sickeningly real to say the awful thing. Ralph mumbled something incoherent in his slumber; Louise liked the way his body felt over hers, strong and ever-present. Her heart was thudding, a gavel for her injustice, and with a quiet sigh, she managed to close her eyes. Her body ached all over, and there was a ripening pain between her legs. But she had become accustomed to pain; it was no stranger, thanks to Roger.

Love was an indecent word; it was far too vague to ever capture the true essence of human sentiment.

Fire. Fire seemed to express Louise's feelings for Ralph. She felt fire, raging and always bright, but also perilously destructive and unrestrained.

Fire, at times, could burn, and Louise very confidently could say that Ralph had the same deleterious nature.

A/N: this just kind of happened and I've been having really bad writer's block, so I have no idea when I'll update again. But I promise I will. gah this is taking forever. haha. AND IT SCREWED WITH MY OUTLINE AH.

Anyways. Feel free to review. Sorry if that wasn't what you expected in terms of...YOU KNOW...but quite frankly, I wrote where I was comfortable. And also, I secretly prefer her with Roger, so I'm starting to have a hard time writing with her Ralph. But I'm still writing her with Ralph atm, so don't get any ideas that my favoritism is deciding anything, because it's not. Sorry.

also I'm off to England (OFF TO MERRIDEWWWWWWW'S LAND. sorry. i could not resist) on Friday but I'll have WiFi and stuff so hopefully I'll get some time to update this.

END :D