he
wants -- indescribably badly -- to reach out and touch her bottom
lip,
to press his cold thumb to the tender skin.
she's trying
to look so brave, as always;
he wants to tell her she doesn't
always have to be brave
but in a way, he knows that's wrong
she
will always have to be the fighter.
in a way, he knows that this
whole situation is wrong
it goes against the very idea of what she
is, what he is.
she seems to agree -- "you don't have
a soul,"
she sneers, but he likes to think that
she's
hiding a trembling bottom lip.
the satisfaction she gets from
hurting him
scares her more than her desire for him.
not
understanding a thing about herself since she's been back;
a part
of her craves and greedily feeds off his dejected looks
which he
tries to cover with swaggers and crude insults.
and then in
moments of assuredness,
he leans over the counter towards her;
his
eyes convincing her, he cares about her
he teases and taunts but
he'd die for her in a pinch --
on some level, she knows all
this.
still here she comes --
sometimes she's so much more
of a demon than he --
swaying up, can't seem to stop herself
she
doesn't know why, but
it must be more than evil, because
she's
not evil, remember?
there's nothing wrong with her,
it's
all her. so there's gotta be something here
hasn't there? that's
him worming his way
into her mind, she tells herself.
she leans
back, head back,
trying to let it all go,
sometimes it works;
sometimes the tangible pleasure's enough.
he's held so
immobolized by her.
she really doesn't know the full extent of her
effect on him.
does she really think he's that dumb?
of course
he knows this is killing her. of course
he knows this shouldn't be
happening,
this isn't the way it should go.
but she breaks down
his door, kicks down
all his barriers. her presence,
her breath
breasts eyes lies protests competitions passions smiles
hold him
frozen;
this is how he knows it's love.
and she comes back
and back and she doesn't see it;
how can she? it's out of her
world.
at least for now, she'll pretend she doesn't know what's going on.
but with all the years he's seen,
he
constantly reminds himself that each morning's
completely
different from the evening before.
you never know, he hopes.