Hatred would have been easier. With hatred, I would have known what to do. Hatred is clear, metallic, one-handed, unwavering; unlike love.
Margaret Atwood, Cat's Eye
"I'll take you over, there
aluminum, tastes like fear
adrenaline, it pulls us near
I'll take you over…"
R.E.M.'s "E-Bow the Letter," was playing on her iPod, and Jane thought that it was an apt description of how she felt was she was afraid…
It tasted like metal.
And it had been two years since she and Thor had called it quits.
Two years…and she was relieved, though it hardly seemed to be the case. She wasn't eating properly. She wasn't sleeping properly.
Jane looked out of her window and sighed.
She probably needed therapy.
Needed therapy because what she had done had destroyed her. And she bled. Her tears too insubstantial now, she needed to bleed her pain.
She took to drink, to, as they say, drown her sorrow.
She must be a good swimmer.
She hadn't meant to cheat on him, especially since her parents' marriage had ended in divorce due to infidelity.
And the look on his face…pain…rage…uncomprehending horror…Jane, his almost fiancé, in bed with his brother.
Loki.
She hated what he had done to her life…in some sort of mad rage and fit for revenge, he had seduced her.
And yet, she reminded herself, she went with him willingly.
And the metal rose from her bowels…
Because he had seduced more than her body. He had won her mind…
…and…she whispered…her heart.
Fuck.
The realization had descended its light on her a few months ago, when, after not seeing him since the break up, she ran into him at a party…
"Fancy seeing you here, Jane Foster," he purred.
"Fuck off, Loki."
"Too soon, then?" and he walked around her and placed his hand on her shoulder.
She shuddered….
Aluminum…
She turned and grabbed him.
And they were upstairs now, he had ripped her dress…
She divested his shirt of its buttons…
…and she pushed him onto the bed and took him there.
Because she hated him.
Because she needed to taste something other than metal.
He had completely ruined her, and her life was, from that point on, a series of longing for him, of hating him, of dreading him, fearing him…because she did fear him. He made her into someone she didn't recognize.
And she loved him.
She loved him.
And the metal, it was strong…always metal, whether liquid or solid…always there, churning its insidious presence…
Her phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Jane Foster."
"Loki."
"Yes…are you free this evening?"
"No."
"Lies are unbecoming to such a perfect mouth, Jane…"
She laughed. "Yeah…" and then a tear fell. "I hate you, Loki."
"I believe that you want to, Jane…"
"There is nothing that I want more…Hatred would have been easier. With hatred, I would have known what to do. Hatred is clear, metallic, one-handed, unwavering; unlike love. And so I'm stuck. And I love you."
"Sweet."
"Go to hell."
"I'll see you in an hour," and he pressed "End" on the phone.
He looked out of the window of his vast, ostentatious flat.
He touched the small box in his breast pocket and smiled.
Soon…
And the metal of his car keys scraped the kitchen counter as he left to get her.