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R.E.A.D.E.R.I.N.T.E.R.P.R.E.T.A.T.I.O.N

- n i g h t -

It wasn't the right time. The fall that is.

It was a mistimed, and considering all things it was merely a distraction that he really didn't want. But it happened because they couldn't help it.

He specifically tried not to. He didn't really like jumping in to water without knowing its depth. But, he found himself plunged in so deep he couldn't get out, and the harder he swam, the further away shore got.

It was a compulsion that started it all. The compulsion on spontaneity. The realization that there was no in the middle, only right or left. He choose left, and still winded up going right.

He'd known her long before he met her. They hadn't been introduced, hadn't spoken a word, and knew each other only by reputation. Hollywood is a small world, and it was kind of hard not to meet eventually. It was an award show when they were first introduced briefly. She had demanded him to apologize for bumping into her friend. He learned from that that she always got what she wanted.

Being in the business, they often saw each other after that. He never knew what to expect from her. One minute she was a good-hearted, the next blowing up in his face. He found it almost scary. He was always one for being prepared.

He never wanted to be hooked to her. Their names were not supposed to be merged, or intertwined, or synonymous. Completely different people.

It wasn't until the second time they met when he decided that she wasn't what she seemed to be. She was such a mystery, and he really wanted to get to know her better. His girlfriend of the week didn't though, so he kept his distance.

The third time, he didn't have a girlfriend, so nothing stopped him. It was a breezy, winter night. Cold for Los Angeles. It was destiny. And irony. And he remembers everything about that night. How the moon wasn't quite full, and there was a stench of alcohol in the room where the party was, and how he wanted air so he left, and how it was raining just a little bit, and how she sat on the curb in her pink dress waiting for a cab. He remembers the bitter laugh that called through the air when he asked her what was wrong. He never really got an answer. But he'll always remember the first things he noticed about her where her broken, needy eyes, and half-hearted, fake smile. Those were the last he noticed too, but the last didn't come until much, much later. And even when the last came, it was (and is) still far from over.

By the fourth, fifth, and sixth time, he finally realized he couldn't escape her. She was the sun, with everyone drawn to it, and he was no exception. He was just so much better at hiding it then everyone else.

He'll never forget how she constantly claimed she hated him, and he loved it. He loved every way she said it, and every way it left her mouth, every single time.

It started as a single: "I hate you."

Simple. To the point. Nothing added on. No further explanation needed. Bleeding poison from her lips that he was oh so addicted to.

Later it grew into a: "I hate you."

Emphasized. Forced hatred. A confirmed statement, with in uncertainty creeping in. Spoke from trembling lips, matching trembling hands. It made him feel oh so needed.

His favorite was the next one. The: "I hate you. I hate you so much it hurts."

Emotional. Clinging on. Secret words between the spaces. Spoken in the completely opposite way to her. Crying, and shaking, and undecided. It made him want her oh so much.

Months later came this one, which was a close second to the last: "I hate yo- I hate- I hate you-"

Stuttered. Left behind. Cut off by kisses afterwards. Relied on others to hold the words to their meanings. The death of him. The best possible death. The most painful death. But oh so worth it.

The first kiss was unexpected, and sudden, and he lovedlovedloved it. It was so different. And he actually got to be a real action hero, and save the heroine, and do all the stunts in between. No false lies, everything out in the open.

He noticed the concerned glances from her friends.

He noticed the sympathetic stares from those around him.

He saw her falling faster and faster.

After all, he wasn't blind.

But, he was a lady's man.

She was the girl everyone wants.

And they weren't supposed to be together.

Two people so similar shouldn't be together.

The only problem is he didn't want to admit it to himself.

Because, being the 'hero' he was, he wasn't afraid of the heights. Or the drop. Or the fall even. He was just afraid what happened when he got to the bottom.

And even though it was so mistimed, and unneeded, and distracting, and compelling, and unpreventable, the fall didn't care. The fall happened so fast, he didn't know what happened.

And suddenly he had reached the bottom.

And once he reached it, there was no way to get back up.

So naturally, he pushed her away. It was so much easier, and he didn't want her to end up stuck like he was (although he thought it was so worth it). He didn't want her down at the bottom, trying to let go. In this position that he loved to hate, and hated to love. It was an oxymoron, or contradiction.

Eventually, he got his last.

His last was: "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

Whimpered. Getting stronger. Yelled. Breaking him. Breaking him ever so slowly that he found it a mix of either dying or living or love. He never decided which.

And he wonders if she ever thinks about him. Or if she ever regrets it. Or if she still hates him. Or if she really ever hated him. He wonders so many things it makes his brain hurt.

And truth be told he'll never stop wondering about her. And when he sees her picture pangs of guilt and fury and misery fill him. Because he never hated her. In fact it was quite the opposite.

And when he sits outside on cold nights like this, he waits for the rain. He waits for it to numb him, and bring back all those memories he tries so hard to forget. And he hates himself for being such a coward, and letting his hero-complex get the best of him.

And when he sees her, he dies a little more. Eyes still broken. Still needy.

Smile half-hearted. And fake.

Laugh still bitter.

And it gives him hell.

Because he loves her.

And it hurts.

But he almost likes that even more.

I know! Haven't updated… I'm sorry. I'll be posting several chapters over the course of the next couple days. Pretty please review? Please? And guess the character... I don't think it's too hard. Or maybe it is…

It's confusing, and jumps around. I know, and I'm terribly sorry. I didn't know how to end it, so it kind of fell apart even more near the end…

I'm kind of disappointed in my writing style lately… It's just not any good. So I might take a little break. Just to rethink and rejuvenate. But maybe not…

Anyways.

Next Up: Day; Sonny; Traits