This is what torment feels like. Spiders with their spindle legs crawling through my brain, spinning webs and webs of deceit and pain, love and ache until not even I know what is real.

This.

This is what torment feels like.

The wind howls and whispers her name. Whispers, whispers. Always it whispers, even when I dream.

This is what torment feels like.

The memory of her mouth, and the feel of her breath. Like chasing the sun over the horizon. It will feel out of reach until she comes back and shines upon me again.

This is what

torment

feels like.

I should never have kissed that girl.

I should have pulled out that knife like I wanted. I should have slit her, chest to chin. I should have dropped her in the roses and left her to rot. Now I can't stop. I can't stop thinking about her. She is toxic in my veins.

No. I should never have kissed that girl.

So now I drown in torment.

Jellal thrust open his loft apartment and came inside in a whirl of cold air and agitation. Never. His mouth throbbed and his body ached and all he could think about was honeysuckle and that fucking red hair. Grabbing the lapels of his coat, he tore it roughly from his body and threw it as hard as he could, aiming for the wall housing the abstract painting that always reminded him of both Erza, and the sunset over the ocean as seen from the Tower of Heaven. Both picture and coat fell to the floor, one in a gush of glass and noise, the other in a dissatisfying heap. Jellal glared at them until his rage bubbled over and consumed him. Blindly, he stalked over and kicked the painting, again and again, smashing the remaining glass, destroying the canvass and denting the wall behind.

Even after the painting was demolished, just a frame and shreds of red, it still wasn't enough. Pushing his fingers through his hair, he pulled it until it hurt and let out a meaningless growl. He needed something else to ruin.

Turning, he prowled to the middle of the room and grabbed the edges of his wooden coffee table. Effortlessly, he lifted it high and threw it as far as he could. It skidded across the floor, one leg broken clean off, and spun to the edge of the bed. A high heeled foot stuck out and caught it before it could smack against the bed frame.

Jellal, still frustrated and fuming, finally noticed Ultear. There were very few clothes on her body, a black, leather corset, a scarlet red thong and a pair of tall, black boots. All of his favorite things.

"Get out."

Ultear pushed the table back a few inches and stood on her stiletto heels. "Bad date?"

"Did you not just hear me?" Jellal asked through gritted teeth.

Ultear ignored the warning and stepped over the broken table. "I guess that's why I'm here, to make things better for you." She got nice and close, then lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. "Let me help you forget—"

Jellal grabbed her by the wrist, spun her around and forced her against the wall. She hit hard, face pressed up against the drywall, her back to him. Jellal kept her there with one hand fisted in her hair, the other holding her wrist twisted behind her back. Instead of gasping or getting scared, Ultear laughed. "You're in a shitty mood. Did Erza tell you to fuck your hand?"

Jellal gripped her hair tighter and imagined spinning her neck around and killing her. She'd been helpful for Zeref's resurrection, but she wasn't integral. "Keep talking Ultear."

She laughed again and reached behind herself so she could massage him through his pants. Jellal hated that he was hard. He also hated that it felt good. "So she turned you down. We'll get a new sacrifice and I'll take care of you until Zeref comes along. After that, I'm sure my attentions will be elsewhere, but you understand."

Her obsession rivaled his own. "Erza didn't turn me down," he said after a second. Most of him wished that she had.

Ultear's hand slowed. "Oh no? Then why so angry?"

His silence spoke louder than words.

Ultear was perceptive and wielded her words like a knife. "You talk about how you want to ruin her; you want to break her. There's only one person I see falling apart here, Jellal, and that's you."

He pushed her face harder against the wall. "Shut up."

"No. I told you, you were too close to this. We can use anyone as a sacrifice, as long as they're strong enough. Just kill the girl and be done with it."

"Not. Yet." He squeezed her wrist harder and pressed his hips against her backside, not quite able to help himself.

Ultear winced, but it was an expression lost inside a wicked smile. "You've been so busy playing boyfriend, you've forgotten about Lord Zeref, but we have to make our move soon, Jellal. I can't stand not having him by my side."

Jellal felt like she knocked the wind out of him. "I would never forget about Lord Zeref."

"Then put an end to this. Kill her or bring her to the Tower of Heaven, leave her there until we're ready."

He ground his teeth together. "Not yet."

Ultear squeezed his erection hard. "If you don't—"

"Then what?" Jellal challenged. "You have nothing to threaten me with, Ultear."

"I'm not making threats. I'm trying to help you."

He pulled her hair harder still. "You can help me by shutting the fuck up and letting me do this."

"Jellal—"

He wasn't listening. "I'm the one pulling the strings, Ultear. As you said, you're helping me. The Tower of Heaven is mine. Erza's death will bring Zeref into this world, and I'm going to be the one to kill her. But when I'm ready. This is the way I'm doing things. You're either with me or against me, but I do not need your permission."

"I just want him to come back," she said after a moment.

"I do, too." More than anything.

Encouraged, Ultear said, "I know you're having fun, but we should move before the council gets suspicious."

She sounded so reasonable. Jellal expelled a loud breath. Kill Erza. That was coming. But not yet. Not yet.

Ultear wriggled her wrist; Jellal dropped his hand from her hair and loosened his hold enough that she could turn and face him. Her cheeks were high with excited colour, her breathing was a little too fast, and her hair was mussed. "Promise you won't forget our purpose."

"I promise," Jellal said after a beat.

She smiled and reached for him again. Her hands knew what he liked. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation for just a moment, then caught her wrist again. She was going to have bruises; he didn't care. "I said get out."

She looked miffed. "But—"

Jellal pushed her back so she hit hard against the wall. She looked stunned and angry, though not the kind of angry that begets hate; it was the kind that started a fire. She licked her lips and smiled. "I'll think of you tonight."

Between his legs throbbed as he imagined what she meant. You can just take what she offers. It would be easy and it would feel good. Allowing himself a moment of reprieve, he grabbed both her breasts. The leather of her corset was restricting and kept much of her away from him. When that wasn't enough, he reached down and grabbed her behind roughly.

"It doesn't feel like you want me to go." Ultear's voice was breathy.

Jellal squeezed her once more, hard. "You're wrong. I don't need a fuck doll tonight." He wanted Erza. Ultear just wouldn't do.

Her anger was more of a palpable thing now. She didn't say anything else to him, just pushed him off and crossed the room to the long, silken robe she'd thrown over his couch when she'd first arrived.

Jellal listened until the door closed behind her, then looked around his apartment. It was a mess. You should clean it up. Just in case he had a visitor. Between his legs pulsed again and he decided that it could wait.

It was dark when Erza arrived back at Fairy Hills. Unhindered, she ascended the steps, feeling both weightless and shackled, and slipped into her room. Flicking on the light, her eyes were drawn inexorably towards that package. I don't want to know what it is. Definitely not. If I don't know, I won't want to open it. If I don't open it, I won't see what's inside. Just in case it was something to further erode her resolve. She didn't want to like Siegrain.

Even as she thought it, she knew it was too late, he was all she could think about. Because you kissed him. It felt like it had happened to someone else, some other girl by the name of Erza, some Erza that was braver than she, some Erza that knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.

Erza tried to go about her business and pretend that the package wasn't there, but her curiosity had always been a vice. She'd just barely gotten her coat and boots off when her resolve wore down and she bowed into want.

Going to her dresser, she glared at the thing as if it were its fault that she had lost her mind and kissed Jellal's look-a-like. Fuck. You're crazy. Crazy didn't even begin to cover it. If that's the case, then what difference does it make if I open his gift or not? Not a hell of a lot, for sure. She'd already done just about the worst thing she could do—kiss him and agree to meet him tomorrow.

With a dejected and resigned sigh, she grabbed that silken, red ribbon and tugged it from its home. It fell away in a soft wave; the onyx wrapping paper stayed exactly where it was, bunched up and held in place by memory. Carefully, she grabbed its corners and worked it down.

She almost laughed when she saw what was hidden beneath; maybe she would have if it was from anyone else. A small cake slathered with strawberry icing stared back at her, its edges inexpertly molded. Atop its pink face sat a note. She hardly dared to pick it up and read it.

Your favorite. The statement threw her off balance. I promise it is as amateur as it looks. The steel, at least, is of better quality.

Steel? Erza looked inside the package and realized that the cake sat atop a box. Turning her mouth to the side, she carefully lifted the sweet by the plate it sat upon, set it down on the dresser, and went for the box. This is what made the package so heavy before. With shaking fingers, she lifted the lid and peered inside.

Twin ornate daggers glimmered in the overhead light, their pommels decorated with a single red stone each. The steel around the handgrip was waved in a pattern that reminded her of the ocean, while the blades were so shiny she could see herself reflected in them. In that image, her eyes were wide and surprised. They were very nice daggers. Expensive. Why would he give her a gift like that?

Grabbing them up, she tested their weight and balance. They fit into her hands perfectly as if made especially for her, and teetered on her finger when she found the handguard and balanced it. Maybe they're just ornamental. She touched the blade, even though she knew she shouldn't, and felt it bite mercilessly into her finger. Slowly, her blood dripped down its glaring edge and landed on the floor.

She wished she could return them, but knew she never would.

As long as you're burying yourself alive, you might as well try that damn cake.

Since nine the next morning, Jellal watched the clock and anticipated Erza's arrival. It never seemed to move, like time had ground to a halt.

Tick, tick, tick, went that thin second hand, the sound so grating and annoying that Jellal thought if it didn't stop, he'd smash the clock's face just like he'd smashed his apartment. The only thing that saved it from its fate was him physically getting up, tearing it from its home on the wall, and stuffing it into his outerwear closet.

Silence ruled.

Except, now he contended with two disadvantages: he had no idea what fucking time it was, and, if possible, the day seemed to actually drag on more without being able to watch the hours' limp by.

When the shadows were getting long, Ginny came in with a stack of papers and an over-full tea. She smiled sweetly, blushed, and batted her pretty eyes as she left the items on his desk. Jellal barely saw her, he was too anxious for Erza's arrival. After Ginny left again, he listened like a hawk for the downstairs door opening. As soon as he heard the dry squeal of rubber over marble, he lifted his head and searched for her fiery hair. Every time it wasn't her, the disappointment was a crushing thing. Maybe Ultear is right, maybe I should just kill her and find someone else. It would certainly be easier, less suffocating. Not nearly as satisfying, but…

The door swooshed open again. Jellal lifted his head up from a form littered with numbers and saw her through the glass and iron railings of the loft balcony. Erza's eyes snapped up as if she felt him looking at her, the expression on her face pleased and just slightly anguished. Good. He hoped she was as miserable as he was last night. Not likely. But one day soon she would be.

Standing, he smoothed his jacket, then his hair, and wished for a mirror or something. Stop.

Erza clopped through the building. Ginny met her downstairs. Jellal couldn't hear what words they exchanged, but he thought maybe Ginny didn't sound particularly happy. Still, she waved Erza on, either too busy to bring her up herself or unwilling. It was just as well, Jellal didn't want to look at the clerk. He thought about meeting Erza halfway, but it was more satisfying when she came to him. With false patience, he leaned against his desk and counted the seconds until she topped the stairs. An agonizing moment later, she filled the doorway, hair gleaming in what little sunlight petered through the window, skin luminous.

Jellal discovered he wasn't as calm as he would have liked. Or remotely patient or even smart.

You can't do that here. But he was.

Before Erza could open her mouth and say a word, he crossed the room, grabbed her hand, and pulled her inside his office.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, a little stiff, but still pliable—at least, she was until he slammed the door behind her, locked it, and pushed her against the solid barrier. "Siegrain—!"

One day she'll say Jellal. He touched her cheek more gently than he wanted and laid his mouth against hers, swallowing down the rest of her words.

As soon as he kissed her, Erza pulled back. "Siegrain—we're—you're working—people will see."

"Can you see through doors?" Jellal asked shortly.

Without a good response, she didn't stop him from coming back for her mouth. This time, she even weaved her fingers through his hair. Impatiently, he tore open the buttons of her coat and smoothed his hands over her stomach and ribs, then inched higher, fingering the space just under her breasts. Erza's breath turned fast, with excitement, with fear. He roved higher still so he could just barely feel the gentle curves of her body. She made a small sound and slouched minutely into his touch. Jellal never gave her the satisfaction, sliding his hands around her back and holding her tight enough that it must have hurt.

Erza's frustrated groan moved through him. Gods. He moved his hands down her body and rested his palms on the swell of her behind. She was so perfect. Pliable. He doubted she'd even protest now if he were to take her clothes off. She wasn't worried about the council or the public and professional space they occupied. She wasn't thinking about anything except how it felt when he touched her.

Gods. Gods. He loved her.

The door sounded just beside Erza's ear and she yelped. The sound was muffled against Jellal's mouth; excitement moved through him. He wanted to pull her even closer, he wanted to grab up her dress and force it high, see if she wasn't wearing panties again today. He wanted to make her wrap her legs around his middle, he wanted to slide into her. He wanted her gasping and sobbing and moaning lewdly. Instead, he pulled on some thread of rationality and broke off the kiss. Erza looked at him with wide, glossy eyes. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were the pink of a spring sunrise.

Whoever waited on the other side of the door rapped again. Erza caught her breath and swallowed, throat bobbing. She looked so beautiful, uncertain and—yes, even scared—he almost ignored the door and pulled her back in. Through some miracle, he found his composure and stepped away from her. Erza tugged at her dress and her coat and smoothed her hair. It was still everywhere. Jellal didn't help her. He didn't care if his interrupter knew exactly what they'd been doing. He moved Erza aside and tugged open the door. Ginny waited beyond, hands wrung together in front of her belly button.

"Sorry, Master Siegrain, but the cleaners wanted to know if there was anyone else in the building. I know that woman came to see you, and I didn't see you leave yet, so—" She was as red as a snapdragon.

"You can tell them we're just leaving," Jellal replied shortly.

"Yes, of course." She turned away from him and scurried down the stairs in a swirl of robes.

"You intimidate her," Erza said.

"She thinks she's in love with me," Jellal returned glibly.

"How do you know that?" Erza asked after a moment.

Jellal put a smile on his mouth and it was as casual as he hoped. "Just because my attentions are focused elsewhere doesn't mean that I'm blind to what's happening around me. I'd be blind if I didn't know when I had a lady's attention."

Erza flushed again. Jellal changed the subject. "Let's hurry before they lock us in." Crossing the room in three long steps, he tore open the closet and grabbed his coat, then turned and led Erza out of the building, his hand squeezing her waist. She was warm and shivered just slightly. Jellal pulled her closer so he could better feel the pitter patter of her heart. One day soon, it will be still.