T.M. Hatter's Note: So, I wrote the first chapter. This is Raze's POV…they switch off. Raze's POV for everything I write; next chapter was written by Phoenyx and is in Cory's POV. Don't mind if it seems fragmented and odd. Read and review, please. Enjoy.

I hear screams inside of my head.

You don't know what it's like to wake up with tears ripping apart the layers of your mind. This morning, I felt their memories lock onto my skull and drip acid into the bone. It's always the same: one touch and then I'm in a world of secrets and whispers and all that noise…

And then…nothing.

There is silence and there is silver. Afterwards, I return to the dead state each time: an intricate dance of the cold-blooded fusion and then the retreat to love. Pure love…like scarlet...hands painted with kisses and crimson. There are these images and racing and I don't know which is which or what's going on or even--

"Raze?"

The same voice calls out to me, soft and riddled with mischief. I look up with my own glowing eyes and manage the small, self-assured smirk. "Don't worry," I whisper, the Irish accent cutting my words and making my voice just as ugly as my insides.

Beauty is crucified. Me Ma told me that once. But Cory's hair curls around her shoulders like fine silk and it's hard for me to imagine anything painful in the way she moves, the way her smile creeps up to her lips like a fine-assessed attack on the senses.

I glance up to the concerned gaze meeting my own and nearly laugh, only a stone block of guilt holding me back. I've seen her sprawled on my bed in my dreams and it fills me with shuddering disgust - for myself, mostly. "Women will cheat you," me Da' used to say. The murmurs inside of my head are relentless and none of them are my own. Sometimes I hear a faint breathing on the back of my neck, only strong when no one else is awake:

"But have you seen her skin?"

Moonlit and an array of all the different colors, caught up in a web of perfection.

I find myself staring as she grimaces at the sunlight, walking outside into the daytime. I haven't seen the clouds in a week, but I stay inside whenever I can. I only get up when the moon is out and it took a million of lectures about how "You're a fuckin' vampire, Raze, and it's boring," from Cory to finally convince me to venture out into the world. I agreed, but only because I'm in love with her.

Cory wanted to go to buy some flowers today. She loves flowers - the colors, the scents...she loves the way they move in the wind, how sad they are and yet how everyone takes them for granted. I love the way she stares at the petals, the slow creases of...satin? She runs her fingertips over the stem, the buds, and smiles - really smiles. The way I would smile if I thought the world wasn't looking.

We walk slowly down the road - gravel underneath my boots, and I swear I hear bones crunching every time I take a step - toward where I keep my car. The garage is a plain steel building and mostly filled by what Cor likes to call, "One-Eye's Penis Extensions." The birds are twittering stupidly around me and my ears crawl with the sound. I've been losing it for a while, but I'm not used to all this light. The grass is too green and the world is too bright. I'd rather be in my closet, among the dust and the fabric wrinkles.

Cor stares up at the sky as we walk and whistles softly, hums occasionally, trying to fill the silence. I stay in my own thoughts - whisper whither and the great poems of the awesome nowhere - with a voice that never stops, that never wants to. I laugh quietly as Cor tells me that One-Eye should die of the frailty cornucopia and that pussies are the epidemic unto themselves. When I open up the garage and find it more comfortable amidst the damp air and musty smells, she grins and runs to my old black truck.

"Let me drive, Raze. Come on. You know you want to."

I shake my head no. I love my truck and even though she's fantastic in every way, Cory cannot drive. Not well, at least. When she aims for the road, she hits the trees and sometimes I wonder - while watching her from a distance, of course - whether or not her eyes or really open, or she's just doing this all for kicks.

She pouts insatiably, bright eyes grinning with triumph as she sticks her lower lip out for extra effect. It hits me hard in the gut, every time.

"Do you 'ave to do tha'?"

"Of course, Razz-n-Sniffle."

I grimace at the nickname and run my fingers over the glistening handle as I grab the keys and unlock the doors. She hops inside with a hefty smirk playing across those lips - kissing them, kissing them is all I see - and I follow in after her, sitting down in the driver's seat. Cor begins to ramble about some musician she hates; goes back to her favorite topic of how much Rogue should die, and in the varying ways as well; then smiles and turns to me, forgiving of my silence.

"Scott's a fucking idiot, Raze. Look at all those cars. Freak."

"He buys them because he likes to drive, Cor."

"I can drive, Razzle-Dazzle."

I smirk. "Into trees."

She glowers sulkily as I turn the corner and head down Maple Street. Cor rolls down the window and turns up the radio, flipping through the channels irritably for the lack of good music. The cool pavement whirls in a flash as I hit 50 mph and I catch a glimpse of the trees overhead – an array of gold and brown, mostly; with a spare shade of emerald desperately clinging to a dying life. I can smell autumn on the air and it's as ashy as the cigarette trails I leave behind. But the world is a decrepit corpse in my pale eyes, and Cory sees so much beauty in those colors. All I can see is regret.

"What is this crap?" Some sort of moaning flickers through the static of the radio, but I don't glance up. It's not music, so I won't waste my time.

"Britney Spears." She groans in disgust and flips towards 102.9, the only decent rock station she can find.

We vibe quietly until she pulls out some pills and proceeds to - what I gather, at least - stick them up her nose.

"Are you snortin' Benydryl?"

"Yeah. Allergies."

"Ha-HA!" The heroic outburst has gotten the best of me so I falter, then add with a helpless grin, "I don't 'ave any allergies."

"Screw you, man. I have three fuckin' furballs. THREE. Kill me."

I briefly wonder if Kitty is exuding any gorilla-like tendencies these days, because I always get confused: when she says shadowcat, does she actually mean she's a cat? Or a shadow? Or a shadow of a cat? Which is which? These questions usually lead to is up down or is sideways the parallel universe to my stupidity? I think Kitty's furry. And I think Cor is allergic to shadows.

I turn another corner, the engine groaning softly as I rev up the speed, and she continues on with her silent ritual of ridding herself the repercussions of hair. I snort as I catch the sight of her with what appears to be glistening green capsules somewhere near her nostrils and retort with a small, but highly-amused smirk.

"Overdose on Benydryl. Then you'd be a hydro-allergic lose--I mean hero. Hero to the poor souls stuck coughin' up their lungs on their pets. Pretty spankin' glorious, if you ask me."

"You know what? I think you're a loser. And seeing as I'm pretty dumb? That's gotta be sayin' something, man, 'if you ask me.'"

"I think I 'ear the sweet sounds of you desecratin' your sinuses now. How's the fur these days, anyway?

"I hate you."

But I don't say anything in return. The station flickers between some hard rock to the Oldies and Cory concurs her medication with a final laugh–"I got 'em! Take that, Benydryl!" –and I keep driving as my thoughts drift towards the few freckles on her cheeks and the way she wears her jeans with a few layers of shirts over them.

"How long till we get there?"

"'Nother mile or so."

We reach the New York City within a few minutes and I drive down the fast streets, swearing occasionally with my blatant Irish temper when a couple of bastards cut in front of me. Cory wastes no time to laugh and shake her head disapprovingly, but enjoys it all the same. These trips to the city are rare because of her schoolwork and I don't weekly make enough money for the gas to get us here. But I love taking her all the same, even for just some flowers and a smile.

We both get out of the car nearly simultaneously and she skips – though she'd never admit it – beside me as we walk down the street.

"Damn, Raze, but I love this city."

The fast-paced nature of it, I'd guess. The way the streetlamps flicker and the people laugh openly and there's not fear – but rather a resolute need to rise above. It appeals to Cory. She feels home where she's judged least. I smile and nod complacently as she strolls along, the clouds nearly singing above our heads.

I lead the way, but only by presence, because she doesn't know exactly where we're going. I told her I'd take her to get flowers, and the perfect place for that – as far as I'm concerned, and I think I'm right – is on 49th street. There's a market there – roses and daisies, and scarlet and white, and a million of different colors blurred into one another. The sunlight flickers between buildings as the picture of a meadow in between skyscrapers glosses my thoughts, and I smirk out loud.

"The people? Raze, if I ever make out of Stormy's class alive, we should live here."

She craves freedom.

I laugh and nod.

"Apartments are expensive 'ere."

"We could live as hobos!"

"Sure. Hygenic to a 't', ye are."

Her laugh is clearer like bells and morning mist, and my stomach does a few somersaults – unwanted – as I retreat back beneath my coat.

And when we reach the outdoor shop, she gasps. It's a secluded, ironic Paradise, I think. There are petals and leaves pouring over great wooden bushels of any type of flower you could imagine. People wander in and out of the aisles and laugh with the wispy jokes still lingering on real – fresh – air. The vendor chuckles at us kindly, the look on Cory's face priceless, and we start in. The fragrance is overpowering and I feel my knees weaken as she nearly runs. It's beautiful – not the flowers, but…her…the entire scene. Orchids and lilacs...but there's a bitter crying inside of my head and I begin to wonder if I'm going mad.

Cory moves slowly and picks up a flower – some kind of…I don't know…morning glory. It holds a bluish tint that reminds me of the sea, and all of a sudden I'm drowning and clawing and the visions come faster and faster…

And there's Cory, on my bed, screaming out because I did this and I deserve this and…

My brain whimpers into sweet, cold oblivion as the black shifts between hues and my soul rips itself to shreds. It's a dangerous love and I'm a dangerous person. I can never really touch her – not for long. I don't know how. I'll be inside her body and crawling underneath her veins if I do…and it's…wrong. I'm disgusting. I feel my stomach whirl again, with nausea, so I glance up. She weaves with grace and I walk beside her, feel both fake and free. She's laughing and there's a rosemary glint to her eyes. So beautiful. So perfect.

But beauty is crucified. I should have learned my lesson. You don't know what it's like – I go to bed as the different people, and I can never ever make her happy. This is no happy ending. My hands are stained with blood and I can feel the souls immersing themselves in my skin as I move. But I want her…so badly…

But I can never have her.

The little voices sound at the back of my mind:

Never say never.