he's lonely.
Oggetto
| I'm sorry to remind you but I'm scared of what we're creating |
.
Her fork scratches on the plate as she twirls pasta around it – it's been fifteen minutes and she still hasn't taken a bite.
(there are very, very few people outside of her family and doctors who know what she has)
"What would you do if a mass murderer was in love with you?"
There used to be only one, now there's two, although she suspects a third – noisy detectives who do extensive research and background checks on every member of your family seem like the type to peek in your medical records.
"I don't think a mass murderer would find me appealing." Her friend, her closest friend, really, answers without missing a beat. "I really couldn't stand the blood, would probably get a sore throat from all the screaming."
She snorts, loudly, which earns her an amused smile and while it would be appropriate to find a new topic, because discussing mass murderers during lunch is not really tasty, she's not quite ready to drop it yet.
"Sometimes, I wonder if they can even feel love." And she'd never ask, not openly anyways, but she's starting to suspect that it's been there since the beginning, since he kissed her.
"I…" A pause then, the quirk of an eyebrow. "I don't think they feel love the same way we do, Eden."
The mood shifts, it isn't as light and fun as it was a minute ago.
No, maybe they don't. Whatever it is, it's not love, it's twisted and sick, consuming and terrible. It's a perverted version of love, obsessive and unhealthy – it could be the plot of a yellowback romance novel, set in the eighteen hundreds.
"Are you trying to tell me something, Eden?" Serious eyes, concerned tone of voice. "Is your boyfriend not treating you well?"
On the contrary, he's been treating her well, too well, so well in fact that she can't differentiate anymore, between careful manipulation and genuine feelings. He nurses her back to life with patience and devotion that she didn't even know was possible. He's always alert, always ready – waking up in the middle of the night to make her tea, making sure she eats and takes her medication and –
(fingers in her hair when she rests her head on his shoulder, a warm hand on her back in public, an arm that coils around her waist before she falls asleep, a kiss on her forehead when she comes home from work)
"No." She shakes her head. "No, he's nice."
Her friend's posture relaxes.
"And your sudden interest in mass murderers comes from?"
"Kira." She answers easily, because if there's a name on the tip of everyone's tongue lately, it's certainly that one. "Someone asked today, what would happen if Kira fell in love."
"Well, he doesn't really strike me as someone who'd fall in love with anyone – God complex and all that." It's a good thing he is not here to hear that. "But, I suppose, even mass murderers need understanding and acceptance."
"Understanding?" She blinks, dumbfounded.
"Introduction to psychology – humans are social creatures, we crave understanding and acceptance, don't function well without it." Her friend nods dramatically before shoving a ravioli in her mouth.
Could it really be that simple – that he's lonely.
It causes her to blink once, twice.
"Maybe I should have taken a psych class in Uni." She mumbles, mostly to herself, after a moment.
She winds pasta around her fork, finally takes a bite.
(loneliness comes with a dull ache, no one wants that, not even her)
a/n : thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed. stay safe.