A/N: Thanks a lot to my reviewers! Here comes the second and lastpart of my little dance.

Chapter 2

I gently run my fingers through your fine, dark hair. It's as sweaty as the rest of your body, and you, finally peaceful, sleep the deep sleep of complete exhaustion beside me.

I feel the tears of pain still moistening my eyes, making my sight of you a bit blurred, and I fell the dried paths where they have run over my cheeks shortly before.

I see a dark red bruise forming on my upper arm, where you have gripped me too tightly and I feel others on other parts of my body that are hid under the blanket. Slight pain is thumping steadily in them, additionally to the stinging of the scrapes, where your fingernails have left bloody streaks on my skin. But where it hurts most is where you have impaled my body and my heart alike; I wonder if I'll ever get used to the pain.

I'm just glad you don't lose very often.

Tenderly I let my gaze wander over your face, taking in every little detail of you. Only when you are sleeping you seem at ease with yourself. A smile tugs at my lips.

I know that I probably can forgive you everything.

But can you?

When I sit in the living room, eating breakfast, I hear you stirring in the bedroom. The door opens and I watch you crossing the living room. You take the path that is farthest from where I sit. You don't look at me. Your dark eyes are cast to the floor. Under your crumpled yukata your shoulders are stooped. You are far too much are of what you have done.

I listen to you taking a shower.

I try to think of how it will go on.

You step out of the bathroom, again avoiding my eyes. Your head is turned to the side and your black hair, now freshly washed, is shadowing your face. I don't see your eyes, but I don't need to, to know they are haunted with shame and self-hate and tears.

Even if I can forgive you, you can't.

You close the bathroom door behind you, but remain there.

You want to run away, afraid and disgusted with yourself.

But you fear that if you run, I'll let you go.

So you face your shame and say, "I'm sorry."

"You always are."

I stand up and take a step towards you. You take a step back. You can't accept what you have done.

"You should stop doing it," I softly tell you.

"You should fight me!" Your words are a pleading cry of panic.

We're tearing each other apart.

"You know I can't!"

I seize your wrist. You shy away like a wild animal. Your fear is too much for you to bear.

"Me neither!" you whisper, "I don't know how!"

We've led that talk before. But it leads nowhere.

I coax you into a light embrace.

You are tensed, trembling. You can't bear to be near me.

But I don't let you go. I can't.

This is, in some twisted way, my revenge. You need your distance, but I hold you. As close as possible. I suffocate you with my love.

You stand stiffly as my embrace grows stronger. I feel your shaking getting harder. You need to get away.

Nevertheless you stand as I press my hot lips firmly onto yours and you even lean your head back as if you'd welcome the kiss. You, you are a conflicting mix of emotions. You want to be near me. You love me. But my touch burns you, reminds you of your helplessness. You yearn for my forgiveness, yet it increases your self-hate even more.

You need me as much as I need you.

And I want to promise you I'll help you.

But I can't.

When I kiss you longer and caress your back with my hand, you finally relax a bit in my embrace. You even kiss me back.

This time, everything went well.

But will it next time?

We can't stop dealing out hurt to each other.

It's not only your fault.

You've never had the chance to learn to deal with your darker emotions when you were younger. No one let you live a normal life.

It's not your fault.

So it should be mine? I should show you the way. I should help you learn to deal with yourself.

But I'm not a help at all! I can't even fight you!

Is it really my fault then?

My fist grips your shirt hard. I feel you flinching back for a moment. I don't let you go. I leave my arms closed around you; feel your warm firm body that is still tense. You're still so ashamed of yourself. Somehow I'll have to make sure you'll be fine!

Can it be my fault?

Loving you?

This time it turned out well.

But will it next time? Or the time after?

Every time, a bit of each of us dies.

A never ending devil's waltz… around, and around, and around.

I kiss you softly on your brow and stroke your hair.

I love you so much that I still, irrationally, begin to believe that everything will be fine.

"Let's play," I say.

You perk up and nod and I finally all the tension and anxiety leaving your eyes.

Thankfully you lay your head on my shoulder.

As long as we play, everything is fine.

A/N: I know it's not a nice story, but I hope some of you liked it nevertheless.
It demanded to be written, I couldn't help it.