CHAPTER 10
It was the little things that made him love her so much.
The understanding smiles, the soft, gentle laughter, the small moments they shared, and the long ones, her comforting voice, and compationate nature...
And yet he knew her to be a contrast to herself. Sort of like an oxymoron.
She hated flowers, she said they were like 'the hookers of nature', and yet she would paint the acatia and sakura trees in his garden when they were in bloom.
Sometimes she would listen to Death metal, and sometimes she would listen to soft, soothing music.
Sometimes she would yell, and rage, yet sometimes she would hold her tongue, when people were saying the most spiteful things.
She was an avid believer in hell, but she as an athiest.
She was forgiving, yet he knew no one who could hold a grudge better.
She hated the night, but she would sit, locked in her room with the lights out, and stare at the moon for hours.
She liked the dark and gorry side of the world, she appreciated it in all it's despair, but she was also a die hard romantic.
A contradiction.
He had loved her long, inky black hair, and the way it fell in delicate curls, framing her pale face. He learned to live with it short.
He was abnormaly attracted to her lean figure, and the way her clothes clung loosley to her body almost made him salivate.
But it was her fingers he loved most. When they sat together to eat under the god tree, he would absently play with her long hair, and delicate, artist's fingers while she dozed on his shoulder.
Those fingers that created the most beautiful things his eyes had ever see, besides her. The clay pots, the sketches, the paintings... he loved the paintings most, because he found it cute when she turned up at school with multicolored paint stains on her arms and legs. Then her would help clean her face with bits of dilute turpinetine, and in exchange she would make him a bento the next day.
He had known her as his brother's annoying girlfriend, then his classmate, when she was promoted a year.
He began to see her differently, and eventually it came to the time where he knew her like he knew himself.
He became her pillar of support, and she his, and now they were rarely found apart. He was always there for her to lean on, wether she needed him or not, and he worked in the shadows to keep her safe.
He acknowleged the fact that she may only see him as a friend, but he wasn't one to hold back.
He would do anything in his poower to help her, to ease the suffering she was blindly coping with, without letting her realise that she needed him.
But he'd had enough. He was tired of waiting.
She'd had her time, and now it was his turn. He was not going to sit around any longer, waiting for her to come around.
He wasn't even going to attempt to control himself anymore.