He couldn't stop thinking about her, about the way the sun shone through her hair, the way her lips parted when she smiled. Every time he saw her he wanted to tear his hair out, and smile and dance and cry. He usually ended up collapsed on his bed, or at his desk, or on the closest chair. He couldn't even think about her without having to grip the nearest chair or desk as tightly as it might allow. How could she not know? How could she not see the way he looked at her, in direct opposition to the way she looked at him? It didn't help of course that he had every opportunity to bump into her at his aunts company. Why couldn't she just stay out of his world?

And then Aunt Catherine had invited them to dinner. To Dinner. Where he would have to engage in conversation with her. Half way through the night her felt like stabbing his eyes out so that he wouldn't have to look at her. He wanted to just walk over, place his hands around her head and press his lips against hers. He ended up using a fork to surreptitiously stab himself in the leg. If anybody noticed it they didn't say anything. At least the pain kept his mind alert, kept him on his arsey side. He caught a quick glace of his face in a mirror on the way to his room. Stone. He looked like a stone statue with no emotion, but he caught sight of her in the mirror and his face softened. His lips turned up at the end and his eyes became more inviting. This was the face he wished she would see. But she wouldn't ever see it, she couldn't. She would only see stone.

She wouldn't see how his nails were torn, frayed and bloodied. How he had several bruises on his hands, and not particularly on his leg. That fork had even drawn a small amount of blood. She would never see what she did to him.

Why did she have to be so… terrible?