A/N: Prompt given to me by blacklistredpill. Thank you very much! Enjoy!
Grey Room by Damien Rice
I've still got me to cross your bridge in this storm
And I've still got me to keep you warm
29. Pens
"I never tell you everything," Red tells her in an indifferent tone.
Liz gives him an embittered laugh and throws her hands in the air turning her back on him. "You're a real bastard you know that?" She says darkly as she slowly makes her way to a small table that holds a rather expensive Spanish statue belonging to the owner of the mansion. She grabs it and smashes it against the wall, but the loud crash does nothing to ease her frustration.
She turns to him furiously, and he watches her with those familiar sorrowful eyes. The eyes he gives her when he knows that some form of pain is coming his way from her.
"You're a real bastard," she says again, enjoying how the sting of her words feels on her tongue. He winces at her venomous voice and she continues. "You tell me you care for me, make me believe that my life is worth giving a damn! You take, take, take, but you never give any more emotion than what suits your needs! You don't give a damn about me-so here's some news for you; I don't give two shits about you either," she snarls at him. They both know her words are lies.
All the same, it doesn't stop the hurt he feels in his heart. His soul is crying silently as she glares at him with such hate. Such contempt. How can that ever come out of an angel like her?
He looks around him for a moment, and begins patting down his pockets when he doesn't find what he wants.
She freezes when he pulls out a shiny silver pen with a needle-like tip. He presses it into her palm, and she can't help but let a few tears escape her eyes when he hastily fumbles with his collar buttons and his tie to reveal a faint white scar where she pierced his skin in anger all those months ago.
Without another thought she raises the pen, thinking of the sick satisfaction that she'd feel at seeing him hurt. But then she hears it. And sees it. A quiet sob escapes his lips, and his green eyes are distracting themselves, gazing at some unknown object as tears stream down his face.
She drops the pen and grabs his face turning him to face her full on.
"I'm sorry, Lizzie," he gasps softly. "I don't mean to hurt you." She can barely hear his words.
She sighs and presses a gentle his to his neck, where her mark is. A permanent mark made by her. He's hers.
And she, his.
"I'm sorry," he whispers and she silences him with her lips.
"Be quiet," she breathes against his mouth. She slides his vest off of his broad shoulders, and tears his shirt open letting them both fall to the floor.
"Please," he says hoarsely, "Don't hate me."
She kisses his neck, and gently nips his shoulder beneath the scar. Finally, she grabs hold of his belt.
"You know that's not possible," she whispers quietly.
AN2: Thanks to my lovely friend JackandSamforever! You rock!
