Lily: this was an idea that i've been toying with for awhile. i finally decided to type it out.

One Day, It'll Be Me...

I bite back a moan, but it's no use. He already knows how much I like it. He's smirking as he moves against me. God damn him. How can he do this to me? How can he make me hate him so much, but want him so much at the same time? How can he make me feel so good and so ashamed? He knows I hate this but I want it so bad... want him so bad. I can't help but shift my hips along with his thrust. His smirk is growing even wider.

I remember the first time he did it.

We had been fighting, as usual, when he grabbed the front of my shirt and ripped it off me. I yelled at him, shouting that I had liked that shirt. He only smirked at my rage. God... that look on his face, like he knew something that I didn't, like he was withholding candy from a weak little child. I hated that look.

I rushed forward to attack him. He flipped me over, shoving me face first into the dirt. This form of humiliation wasn't new to me, but his fingers slipping under my waist band was. I squirmed and shouted, trying to get away. He only tightened his grip and pulled on my clothes harder. Finally, when I was left wearing nothing, he... he... I tried not to cry or make a sound, but I think, at one point I may have sobbed out his name.

When he was finished, he pulled on his clothes, gave me an unidentifiable look and left me laying naked in the dirt. I lay there for awhile, still coming to grips with what had just happened. I pulled on what was left of my clothing and went home.

It was like that every time afterwards.

We would fight and he would take me, wherever we happened to be, in a clearing in a forest, in a dojo somewhere, it didn't matter. Although the settings changed, the aftermath never did. He would give me that same strange look, not a condescending look like the one that accompanied his smirk, but a slightly lost and -maybe I'm imagining it- regretful look. He would leave me there on the ground to sort out my very tangled thoughts.

Why did he do this? Did he do it just to torture me? Did he do it merely for pleasure? Did he actually like, maybe even love me? if so, why didn't he tell me? Would I have believed him if he did?

If anyone had told me beforehand that, one day, I would actually be wondering if he loved me, I would have punched them out right then and there.

Judging by his treatment of me in any other situation than that one, I would say he did it to toy with me and that he was a sick bastard. But when he did do it... it was the things he said to me that made me wonder if he might love me. How he said that he loved the way I looked, loved my thick hair, loved how it felt in his fingers, loved my dark eyes, loved my pale skin, loved the way I felt, loved the way I always fought back, loved the way my spine felt under his touch, loved the way I tasted, like ginger and white wine.

How can you love so many things about a person but not love the person?

And then I ask myself the loaded question.

Do I love him?

And the answer is never an answer.

I'm falling in love with parts of him but my mind is still rejecting the fact that I may be falling in love with him. I love some of the obvious things about him, but I also love the different things about him. I love his long hair, love how it feels sleeker than silk, love his delicate features, love his mirror-like eyes, love how gracefully he moves, love the flat and angled planes of his stomach, love the way he tilts his head when he's listening, showing the curve of his neck, love the way he will always be my challenge to beat, love the way he makes me feel, like I'm weak and I hate that but I like it because then I want someone to take care of me and make me safe and he does that even though he never stays and never says he loves me and I hate him all at the same time.

Hate the way he makes me feel.

Love the way he makes me feel.

Want him to feel the maddening helplessness and desire to be loved that he inflicts on me every god damn time that he touches me like that.

Want him to know what it's like to be defeated, taken, broken, forgotten and love how it feels.

One day, it'll be me. I'll be the one to win. He'll be the one trying not to cry and sobbing my name.

One day, Hyuga Neji, one day...