Love doesn't exist.
That was what Finn used to tell himself for years. Every woman, every slut, every no good little whore that passed through his hands got no love from him. He took what he needed and left them broken.
Because love doesn't exist.
He didn't mean to change his way of living when he met her. It was meant to be another night that would leave him warm for an hour and her cold for a lifetime. For some reason that night turned into more. More nights, more days, weeks, months, more and more time.
But love still doesn't exist.
He grew dark and angry. More than he had ever been before. He had to prove it to her and to himself. He was right. She was wrong. Yet he couldn't leave her, and for some reason she didn't leave him either.
Love doesn't exist here.
The first time he hit her, she stayed. The second, third, fourth time she stayed too. They both lost counts as the bruises grew. When he cut her long buttercream blonde hair with a knife in a fit of rage, tearing lock after lock out of her scalp, leaving her ocean blue eyes to drown her face, she still stayed. She knew it by then. He couldn't say it any clearer.
Love doesn't fucking exist.
Still she kept telling him that she loved him. And even worse, she made him feel it too. She made him feel bad about his actions, and that led to more bad actions. Words, bruises, cuts, whatever he could do to hurt her. Until he couldn't hurt her anymore. Because of him, the fire in her eyes was put out. Because of him, her soul left her body. Because of him, she was buried a Saturday afternoon in a black coffin. Black as his heart. Whatever light had been in his heart that had been brought there by her was now long gone. It would never return. No one could ever do to him what she had done.
Love doesn't exist anymore.