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-Cold-
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Watch as my fingertips brush your face. It is cold, and so are your eyes. Dark with desire and flat, stony with hatred, they gaze critically into my very soul.
How is it that you are so cold, even in the heat of passion? How do you remain so devoid of emotion, even after all this time? I try to explain it away, to convince myself that you are only afraid of your feelings. It is no use, though, for it is obvious that you have none. None but utter loathing, that is. I wish often that you were warm, but I don't know that I would love you if you were.
My desire for you is sweet and sinful, forbidden and sadistic. I keep it secret, and I know that you do the same. Why is this, when you have nothing to hide? It would not hurt you, you who feel nothing, if we were discovered. You are using me, you loathe me with all your being, yet somehow that doesn't matter anymore. I miss the warmth of a real relationship, and the coldness of your skin repulses me, but still I am hopelessly drawn to you, and I know I can't resist the pull.
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A/N- The last sentance is a bit long, I know. Please review?