"It seems kinda silly now, doesn't it?"

"Sorry about sucky timing..."

"It's okay. I appreciate it." I really, really do.

"A nice car," he smiled. That's what he was going to get me for my birthday. I faintly looked up and back down instantly, ashamed to have even shown that much interest. "Having it shipped in from Europe," he had said offhandedly. "Oh, did you make coffee? How nice" That grin made me want to both kill him and kiss him in the same breath.

"You coulda asked what kind I want at least,"

"I already know, you do nothing but stare at photos in car magazines,"

"....stop watching me read, that's creepy," I half shivered.

"I've seen you snooping through my collection too,"

"... I'm a guy after all..."

".... the iother/i collection," he said softly, voice like velvet. The one hidden behind the row of cheap bikini magazines... I flushed, trying desperately to think of something to say to the contrary.

"You don't have to lie to me," Taking liberties with me as usual, running his hand down my chest and lingering on my side. "You want me to give you that too?"

"....n...no, w..wh...who the hell would e..." My tongue tied itself in about forty knots. It was only one of the possible ways I could've started it. I knew it was only a matter of time after all. Deep down, he wanted to kill me. The bloody photos I'd found and looked at in morbid fascination were only a sampling of the real danger I was in. ".... you did all those didn't you?"

"...yeah," He said almost like a guilty child. "it at least got me to learn how to develop my own photos," a smile dripping with evil.

"... they all died didn't they," I said quietly.

"... yeah," he shuffled his feet. For some reason I didn't quite understand, I felt a twinge of something in my chest. ".... think of it as practice," The words left an unpleasant echo resonating through me.

There's a disconnect, you know. Ironic word choice, but its true. I wasn't me anymore then. Or now. I got to wondering about different kinds of love. And if I was in love. And what if I was? I remember vaguely murmuring that over the anesthesia haze. His hands were warm. So warm. And faintly bloody.

"....I should've at least waited." Voice always so filled with guilt. Fresh from Europe, sitting in our driveway, gorgeous slick and black.

"It's the thought that counts, right?" Forcing a smile.

"......you fucking optimist. Just once would you care for yourself a little?"

"Sit me in your lap and let's see how fast we get arrested," I smirked.

"I might do just that,"

Two hands in my own but I can't feel it. The sea and the sky, a convertible belonging only to me that I happen to be lending to you. Black as the night, but the night isn't so black is it? Streaks of orange and purple, glittering antique silver waves. Your chest warm against my back. This is good enough.

"Do you think they'll stare?" He gestured toward the beach.

"Obviously," I bit, then softened " but its late, I doubt anyone is there,"

Carried, of course, above soft peach sand. Dark sky all around us.

"...this is a pretty f-ed up date,"

"We've never been normal people," He laughed. True enough.

One hand in mine and I can't feel it. Fingers entwining with ghosts. Discordant seagulls above and the beginnings of a lazy kiss.

"We sure as hell haven't"

"Why didn't we do this before?" I asked in a near whisper.

"Hell if I know, you're the romantic one..."

"....kill me some day,"


Innocent and pure eyes, too kind, eternally too kind. Cruel, piercing eyes with murderous intent. Without the interference of glass between. Devouring each other, Filling each other's endless voids.

Sunset on the sweeping empty, like a blanket on them both.