I don't like him.

It isn't even possible. I don't like the way he smiles at me when he sees me sprawled on his couch, holding a bottle of wine. I don't live on each moment that he spends brushing his hand over mine as we bicker over the table at dinner.

I certainly don't feel empty when he leaves my apartment to go home. I would never spend any time sitting by the window, watching the streets pass below and wondering when I might next see him. Never contemplate how different things could have been, how it should have gone back then.

Looking at him now, I most certainly don't burn with a passion apart from lust, and I definitely don't want to hold him until he forget all the ugly things I have helped to bring upon this world and I don't want to stroke his hair when he whispers sad things about his Home, where I can never follow him.

I don't want to keep him here with me. I don't fear the day he will eventually wake up and realise that his company is the Enemy, and ask to be transferred back to his Home.

I didn't Fall because they tried to separate us. It was nothing to do with how I didn't feel about him, even back then. It was nothing to do with his tears and his resignation that we would not be together.

It was nothing to do with rebelling against an uncaring God who made the angel cry by making him be alone. Even as an angel I wasn't that sensitive.

I don't think of him as anything more than a passing lust, an old acquaintance, the only one I have, the only company that understands me. Hell, I don't even think of him as that much.

I don't need him to stay by me. I don't enjoy his bloody feathers scattered over my lounge room when he gets drunk and tries to fly about. I don't want to stop tempting him in case he Falls. I don't want him stay as he is, perfect as he is now.

I don't think of him as my Angel. I don't lie to my superiors to keep him off their radars for any reason other than amusement.

I don't need him like a starving man needs food. I don't need to know that he'll come back every time we bicker. I don't worry each time he leaves that it might be the last.

I never contemplated that each act of evil might be the one that makes him realise what I am.

I don't like him.

I don't love him.

I can't love him.

I can't stop it.