Layers of Hatred
She could rewind time. She traveled from the future to the past and back again. She doesn't have to wish for yesterday, because she goes there, all the time, and it hurts just as much as today. Hurts just as much as tomorrow will.
The hurt has made her bitter, the pain has made her angry, it has made her hate. She never used to hate, she never used to be angry, she was never these things. Not until the promises of tomorrow stopped being so bright and the dreams of yesterday stopped being real.
Because today she is alone in a future that she is starting forget and when she goes back to yesterday, when she goes back to that past she is still alone. Because she has to be alone in a place that only exists, that only becomes real when she goes there. And she doesn't belong there. She's just a visitor from a future that has yet to exist.
She hates time. She hates that today the past doesn't exist and yesterday the future doesn't. She hates that she can only live her life one half at a time. She hates that she used to believe things stayed in the past. That mistakes and pain and fear died there. She hates that she knows they don't, she hates that she knows the past lives even as you try to forget.
She hates that she's used so many of her todays trying to live in yesterday. And she hates that when she goes back to the future she still cries, she hates that time heals nothing.
Hates that it only makes her remember all the things she can never have. Like him.
Him. Him with the dark eyes and the doom. Him who hated her for hating what he could never have.
Time.
There were no yesterdays for him, no tomorrows, just todays. He didn't have the time to remember the past, he had to live for today because tomorrow might not be there when he woke up.
And when she cries he hates her a little more because after the fear and the pain and the blood she still has tomorrow to go back to.
And all he has is a handful of borrowed todays that can last for only so long. He wonders if she would still cry if it was in the future that she did not belong. Sometimes he wonders if she hates him for being able to live in today.
He thinks maybe she is the only one that can make him mourn the life he will never have, he thinks maybe he hates her more for being just as bound by fate and broken as he is. He thinks maybe he hates her for not laughing, for not smiling anymore. He thinks he hates her for being so sad, for being so haunted because it makes him want her.
And he promises himself everyday that he will want nothing. Because he knows if he wants something he will only lose it, and he knows if he loses something he will only miss it, and he knows if he misses something it will only hurt.
And he isn't going to live very long and he thinks his todays would be better without pain and regret and ache.
She wonders when they started needing each other so much. She wonders when they started using each other so much. When he kisses her he can taste the future, when he touches her it's like tracing the edges of tomorrow. And when she tastes him, when she presses those cold beads into her own hand she remembers who she used to be. And when he looks at her with lust and desire and want she remembers that time is a precious thing. And it has to be lived.
And she thinks maybe she hates him for that. She thinks she hates him for making her live, for making her want, for making her need, when he has spent his whole life avoiding it all. She thinks maybe she hates him for making her want the pain he runs from. She thinks maybe she hates him because she understands why he runs.
And so she lets him have her.
His mouth is always hot and urgent and rough. His hands are calloused and strong and impatient and when he takes her fast and hard his eyes are open because he knows tomorrow he might not see this.
And she wraps herself around him, pulls his curves into her, holds on so hard it hurts, and she screams his name, because she knows tomorrow this will not exist.
And he hates her for crying for tomorrow and she hates him for the todays he will never have.