|Jade|

The pretty girl always dies first, you know.

I grin against my handful of popcorn before unceremoniously shoving it into my mouth. A piece tumbles into my shirt and, not bothering to tear my eyes away from the TV, I dig into my bra to fish it out. The tip of my tongue sticks to its buttery side and takes it in with a sweet crunch.

The killer on screen swings a pair of scissors around her middle finger with a wicked, cracked smile across her face. The pretty girl, the first to die in The Scissoring, stares pitifully up from the floor with tears raining down her cheeks, stuttering as she begs and pleads for her life. But the killer only grins, splitting the scissors and using the pointed blades to gouge out the victim's eyes. Blood splatters and soaks the girl's shirt as intolerable screams wail through the speakers.

This is my kind of movie.

Laughing, I chew happily at my popcorn. The Scissoring has always been my favorite movie. It's gory and painfully twisted. Gorgeous, really. I've seen it a thousand times, enough that I can sit here and easily quote the lines before the characters have spoken them. I've always secretly hoped that, if and when they make a sequel, I could audition. Maybe I'd be the main character's demented sidekick, only to overpower her at the end and take over the job myself. I sigh dreamily. A girl can hope.

It's so easy to lose myself in film, in characters, in their words and actions. It's half the reason I wanted to become an actress in the first place. These people get paid to not be themselves - what better way to escape shitty reality than pretending to be a warrior or a princess or a murderer and making bank off of it?

My enthusiasm starts to die near the end of the movie, sensing the real world closing back in on me all too soon - there's a scene where you think that, as usual, the good guy is going to win, that the killer will be killed herself and the two lovebirds will run off into the sunset as heroes. But the killer prevails, slaughters both of the remaining cast members, and cackles in their blood. There is no happy ending. The credits roll.

My living room sinks back into focus. I'm no longer a part of the movie. I'm Jade again, and this is my empty house, and this is my phone with four unanswered text, and this is the girlfriend that I've been pretty much ignoring for almost two weeks now.

Frowning, I run a hand down my face and close my eyes. Thinking about it makes my head hurt and that familiar throb starts to manifest at the corner of my forehead; Tori's been trying so hard to make it up to me, to make everything better, but I'm stuck in a place I didn't even know I had created for myself. I never considered Tori could do anything wrong, that she could hurt me, because, well, she's Tori. She's not like Beck or Trina or my parents; it's not in her DNA to mess up.

At least, that's what I thought. That's what I stupidly hoped for. And I get that she's human just like everyone else, but it doesn't stop me from wishing that she was simply biologically incapable of being at fault. I felt safer when I thought she was perfect.

Wedging my thumb between my teeth, I watch the DVD menu loop over and over. It means that I'm always at risk of her hurting me. That she has a certain kind of power over me. It makes me unbearably uncomfortable and suddenly I realize why some people are single forever. Allowing someone that ability is fucking terrifying. I didn't know Beck had that hold on me until he executed it; now, I know better. I know what Tori can do if she chooses to.

It scares the shit out of me.

I can't talk about it. I can't verbalize what I mean to her because it hardly makes any sense to me. It frustrates her, I know - I can see it in her furrowed brow when I don't squeeze her hand in the hallways or I start to walk out of the building without waiting for her or don't reply to her texts or sit next to her at lunch. It hurts her. I'm hurting her. It's not about not wanting her - I want her more than anything - but at the same time it's like a part of me is anticipating the worst and trying to prepare me for it so when the inevitable comes, it won't destroy me.

It's totally backwards and completely fucked up. I'm ruining the best thing in my life and I don't know how to stop it. I don't even know how it started.

A distant mrrrr draws me out of my hands for a minute. My phone is going off. Again. It's in my purse by the door and as much as I know I should answer it - it's Tori, I know it is - I can't bring myself to get up and do it. Drawing my knees to my chest, I curl into the couch and close my eyes and relive the talent show because it was the one time in my life that I felt absolutely, completely happy. I know Tori was happy, too, and at least I managed to do that for five minutes without being a bitch.

I must doze, because when I hear front door opening and closing, I'm not alarmed enough to sit up and see who it is, despite knowing my Mom shouldn't be home until late and no one else comes here. I'm too miserable to care or to even open my eyes. Maybe it's the burglar from all those years ago, come to take his revenge on the house that got away. Let him take whatever he wants, I think bitterly, trying to lose myself in a hazy cloud of sleep. Mom probably won't even notice and none of this shit matters to me now, anyway.

I'm almost gone when the instinctual knowledge of someone standing over me jolts me awake so hard I nearly fall right off the couch. I never knew hurtling into consciousness could be painful, but I somehow manage to wince as I sit up and grab the arm of the chair, teeth bared like a wild animal up at -

A drum is being pounded mercilessly in my ears. "Tori?" I manage, somehow out of breath. "What the fuck?"

She's in a long, strict gray coat, buttoned straight to her neck. Loose curls are bunched at the back of her head by some kind of clip and her bare legs are pressed tightly together. She's not wearing shoes. Grasped in one hand is a gray tote. I'd be more interested in what's in it if Tori didn't look like she was ready to pour lava out of her mouth. She's livid - anger has bunched her brows together, pursed her lips, and made those usually doe-like eyes narrowed and sharp - more like a ferocious bear than any deer.

I never thought I'd say that I'm actually intimidated by Tori Vega, but I am right now.

"You haven't answered my texts or my calls. You ignore me at school. You don't talk to me. You look the other way every time I look at you." Her jaw clicks together.

"Tori, I -"

"No. You had plenty of opportunity to talk. It's my turn." Straightening her back, she takes a quick glance around my living room. "Is your mom out?"

"Y-"

"Ah." She holds up a hand. "Nod."

I do. I don't know why - I've never let someone tell me what to do. Not my teachers or my parents - not Beck. If it had been them, I'd have told them to fuck off in some vague direction and done the exact opposite.

But Tori's always had this pull. People don't see it much. She's so sweet all the time that no one would even consider that she's got some fight in her. And then the claws come out and it surprises the shit out of you so bad, you don't know what else to do but obey.

"Is she coming home soon?" Tori asks, a muscle flickering in her cheek.

Shaking my head, I start to shift on the couch, toward her. It's been so long since I've been near her that it's hard to resist pulling her in. I brace my feet to stand.

"Don't. You're going to sit there and listen to me whether you like it or not." Tori's hands ball on top of her hips. "I thought I'd try to show you in the best way I can how this has been for me. To feel like you're pushing me away and that I can't touch you." I open my mouth again, but she swings a finger in my face. "No talking. Not a word. That's rule number one. Rule number two is -"

She swallows. I can tell she's nervous, which I don't understand, but I'm too scared to ask. I watch as a flush crawls along her cheeks, caramel skin darkening. Reaching behind her head, she snags the clip in her hair and releases it. Chestnut curls tumble over the shoulders of her coat, fingers poised over the first button.

"No peeking," she finishes. "Close your eyes."

"Tori -"

"Jade." The sternness fizzles out, if just for a moment, like a shaken can of pop finally left to settle. "Just do it," she says, voice softer. "Please."

She's back to being a deer again. The claws are retracting. And, well, shit, even I felt a little bummed when Bambi's mom died.

I shut my mouth. I sit still. I close my eyes.

I hear the coat pool onto the floor.

"There's one more rule." A ring of heat from her fingers wraps around my wrists. She pushes them out and to the side, away from my lap. "No touching. Got it? Nod."

I start to do so, but I suck in a breath because Tori is straddling my hips. She sits on my lap, breath warm on my chin. Without warning, without any words, she takes my lips with hers and kisses me so tenderly, it's like the misty drizzle of a great storm to come. Our kisses for the past week and a half have been little more than chaste pecks - innocent, even. Tori's tried more than once to rip something more passionate out of me, but I was so disappointed - in me, not her - that I couldn't bring myself to. In the process of convincing myself that she could do better, that she deserved better, I let the fire in me die.

Tori's doing a great job of rekindling it, though.

Her tongue runs over my lower lip before delving inside. I breathe in sharply through my nose as the taste of her overwhelms me. Without even thinking about it, my hands are touching the bare, hot flesh on her back -

Bare.

My eyes snap open.

She's naked.

"Tori -"

"You broke all three rules at once," she says against my mouth. "Close your eyes."

Too shocked to argue, I close them again.

"Put your arms over your head."

Confused, I do so, and the nature of the order is made clear when Tori's fingers deftly yank my shirt over my head. Goosebumps race across my arms and chest.

"Put your hands back where they were. I mean it. No touching, no talking, no peeking."

My hands find their way back to my side. She holds them there for a moment before her mouth reunites with me - not with my lips, but my neck. Soft, damp kisses are sprinkled along one side, the barest scrape of teeth. I didn't realize what an instinct it was to touch her until she told me not to. My hands are shaking at my sides with the effort it takes to remain still.

Tori's arm wrap around my torso. With no trouble at all, my bra clasp is undone. She tugs it off with a small grunt and bends, kissing my sternum, the valley between my breasts, my nipples. I gasp, head straining against the back of the couch. I imagine what she looks like; tan flesh flexing around the taut muscles in her back, mouth open and panting, her sleek, pink tongue drawing circles on my skin. I know it doesn't compare to the real thing and all of my self restraint is focused on squeezing my eyes shut and not reaching out to tangle my fingers in the threads of her hair, or rain my fingernails down her back.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Tori pulls back. I hear the hard in and out of her breathing. "Not being able to look, to touch?"

I nods and lick my lips. "T-"

"No." Her hand covers my mouth - gently, ever so gently. "This is what it's felt like for the past few weeks. You're right there, but I can't see you because you look away. I can't touch you because you won't go near me. I can't talk to you because you're not listening." She takes another breath in that shakes and I know without needing to see that she's beginning to cry. My hands raise again, to hold her, my head lifting from the couch. "No! No, Jade, stay put. Feel this. Feel what I've been feeling. It's really, really hard, right? To not just - explode or something? Jade ..."

She takes my face in her hands. My eyes are stinging and I'm grateful they're closed, that I can squeeze them to block the tears I know are coming. The tremor in her voice is agonizing to listen to when I know I'm the cause of it. And I can't hold her or kiss her first or tell her that I'm sorry.

My hands curl into fists when she kisses me. Over and over, harder and harder. I feel her tears on my cheeks and whimper something weak and broken. And then she's gone again, hands popping the button on my jeans. I gasp so hard it's almost a scream when her hand digs hard between my legs, pressing hard against my center. Tori's fingers rub against the fabric of my panties at an unforgiving pace.

"Fuck," I moan, heat crawling over my body in intense, persistent waves. She doesn't yell at me this time. After a minute or two of this, she yanks back. My hips squirm, lungs tired, and it's only when my hands are moving to grab her waist does she speak again.

"Open your eyes," she says. Her hands cover mine.

Slowly, my eyelids peel back. I see first the ceiling, then, slowly, shakily, I tilt my head down to look at her. She's not crying anymore, but she looks so heartbreakingly sad it ruins me. "Tori," I whisper, taking her face and bringing our foreheads together. We're so close - she's on top of me, our lips are a whisper apart, but it's not close enough. It's never close enough.

"Tell me why you won't let me fight for you," she says, leaning back far enough to meet my eyes. I blink, shake my head, try to put into words what I still can't understand.

"I don't know." Tears burn the brim of my eyes. "I don't know, Tori. I'm just scared because I'm falling and what if what happened with Beck happens again, you know? I'm mean and unfair and I got so mad at you for something so stupid and, that's, that's not okay. It's not." I run my fingers through her hair. She melts into my hands. "And, I don't know, I just got so wrapped up in thinking you can do better. You're perfect and I can't -"

"No, stop there. I'm not perfect, Jade." Her eyes are sharp, stern, a bear. "I'm not perfect. Say it."

"You're not - you're not perfect." I swallow. "You're not perfect."

"I will never be perfect."

"You will never be perfect."

"Do you get it?" She takes my wrists, my hands, and holds them in front of her naked breasts. "Could I hurt you? Yes. Just like you've been hurting me." I start to speak but she shakes her head, cutting me off. "That doesn't mean we don't try anyway. I mean, jeez, Jade, that same logic could go to anything! Why get up in the morning if you're going to go back to bed at night? Why make any friends if they might not be your friends in a couple of years? Why live and get famous if you're just going to die someday?" She kisses me again, lips hungry and rough. "Because I can make you really, really happy if you let me. So let me. Okay?"

I'm shaking. I'm almost crying. It hurts right now, but being with her hasn't most of the time - and, hopefully, it will stay that way. We can't predict what's going to happen between us, but we can aim for the stars.

Besides, there's a girl in my lap who pushed back when I pushed her, and how many of those do you find in a lifetime?

So I tell her, "Okay," and then I shed the rest of my clothes and make love to her on my living room couch until we're both shaking and panting and holding and touching and kissing and listening, listening.

I tell her I'm sorry. I tell her that if she's going to fight for me, for us, then I will, too. I have to. I want to.

Because I want her.

And when she falls asleep after we've moved to my bedroom, I tell her I love her.

A/N: Woah, super late update, I apologize, don't hate it was fate I was trying to create -

Wow okay someone stop me now.

But yeah, it's finals week, so after this, I will have much more free time and I'll only have work to worry about. Hope you guys have a good week!