Fixed it, and it's finished! The longer version, it's really just a couple extra lines in some parts, and an extra scene or two. It's not getting any longer, but it's a full 16 pages, so I figure that's long enough for a one-shot. Vani/Ven is seriously one of my most favorite pairings right now, I love them almost as much as I do SoRox, there should really be more fics about them. :( Maybe after BBS comes out over here, because then people will actually know the game and characters better.
... I hope so... at least... D:
Anyways, hopes it makes you smile! (Sorry, bad pun...)
It was a wide smile, playfully mischievous, showing all of his teeth in an overly obnoxious manner, but it glowed. It really did, glowed so bright, like it was plugged into the same socket as the Christmas lights hanging around his room. The outside blocked by a bed sheet over his window; it was the only source of light for the room.
His smile was—the lights weren't all that bright to begin with.
His eyes gleamed in the multicolored lights, the rich gold seeming to change into a vomited rainbow. But that matched him just as well as the gold—although, I preferred the gold, but the rainbows, those were his thing. Along with those "Gay Pride" bands and just being loud and proud in general.
Everyone knows him, he makes sure people hear and see him.
His lean body moved nearly cat-like as he sprung out of his bed, a tangle of sheets flung from his body as he leaped to his feet. He moved through the darkness of the room like he was cutting it, like he was a real knife, and that space was really possible to slice to pieces.
He was just that though, he wasn't like a knife; he is a knife.
His lips let breath breeze over my own, making me hold my own breath in panic. My heart thumping heavily in my chest, those soft, pink lips, just so close to mine, barely connecting in any way. It didn't count as a kiss, and I could tell he wasn't about to make it count. His lips deceived people, not him.
No one ever considered the possibility that it was all a game.
Features twisted into an expression he was obviously confident was seductive, something he knew was seductive. Something he knew I thought was seductive. But it was robotic, painful; it looked as foreign to him as everything else. Everything looked foreign when compared to him.
He is something else entirely, he knows it, and he abuses it with debt.
Cold freezing, icy hands gripped my wrist, goosebumps rushed up my skin. Earthquakes wracked my spine, my knees shook like I was on the verge of collapse, and I was a building without a steel frame. I would go down, hard, fast, in flames, dust, and carnage.
He looked forward to it, he waited for it, he anticipated it, and smiled.
I shot out of my bed, breathing coming out in heavy, rough pants, my soft blue eyes snapping open to be blinded by the light of day. I didn't dare to squeeze them shut though, I didn't dare blink away from the wall across from me, I didn't dare flinch as a strong gust of wind hit my face from the open window next to my bed.
I was too scared to close my eyes again, too scared to see him when my eyes were closed.
And he loves it.
Spinning in the office chair behind the counter, I found my eyes glued to the ceiling as I sweated out the working hours of my day. What kind of sadist makes you work on a Saturday night? Everyone knows that's party night! Like Friday night! And every other night that doesn't have school following it the next day!
Scrunching up my nose, I glanced out the window and groaned, watching the sun slowly start to dip below the horizon, watching my freedom waste away with the last rays of daylight, damning my boss to eternal hellfire with the hopes that he'll be an unemployed hippie in his next life. Fluorescent lighting was soon the only lighting in the store; burning my corneas and inducing an ache upon all my senses, making my eyes catch on its reflections off the bags of potato chips on the first shelf. Seriously, if you asked me a couple months back to go to a 7-11, I would be jumping up and down in my seat in excitement for a Slurpee.
Now, don't even mention that damn place, not when I have to waste most of my days sitting in that damn office chair and getting the Slurpees I can't resist deducted from my paycheck. Why the hell would I ever even think about working at this place? Oh, that's right, Terra, my so-called best friend thought it would be cool to have a friend working there, to have someone use their worker's discount to get his shit cheaper.
The bastard never mentioned he already had two friends working here, two friends that spent half their time doing unmentionable things in the bathroom and smoking in the alley behind the store. And it's not like Larxene and Marluxia are quiet, either.
Assholes, the lot of them, all for making me go through the torture of these damn lights giving me headaches, and these fucking office chairs making my ass sore. Damn them all.
The bell sounded throughout the store, making me jump a bit in my chair. I snapped my eyes immediately out to the store, but the person must either be really short or crawling on the floor, because they were already hidden by the shelves. Instead, I turned my attention to the windows, glancing around the numerous advertisement posters taped to the glass to the outside world. It was dark, so I gripped the bat beside me and sincerely hoped it wasn't some drunken bum.
I hate the night shift.
Turning my attention back to the store, I nearly jumped out of my chair at the sight of rich gold, making me gulp and stare for a moment. How did he ever manage to get through the door, through the shelves, and up to the register without me seeing him?
(His eyes gleamed in the multicolored lights, the rich gold changing into a vomited rainbow.)
A smile jumped to his features, all wide, and bright as usual, as he placed a couple things on the counter between us, but I could barely recognize where I was anymore—never mind what I was supposed to do in this kind of situation.
(It was an obnoxious smile, playfully mischievous, the only source of light for the room.)
He pushed a box of Cheez-Its and a soda forward, and his face turned into an amused expression, as I looked down at his things and found my eyes caught on that same rainbow bracelet.
(I preferred the rich gold, but the rainbows, those were his thing.)
I jumped up from my chair, and as I began to ring his stuff up in the nauseas silence, I glanced up to see his lips curving ever so sharply, I couldn't keep my eyes on it.
(I would go down, hard, fast, in flames, dust, and carnage.)
Why did he have to do this to me? He knew he was torturing me, he knew what I was thinking, and he enjoyed doing this to me all the time.
(He looked forward to it, he waited for it, he anticipated it, and smiled.)
I finished and bagged the box and soda, I avoided his eyes, I tried to avert my focus, and his lips parted with some whispers, before he smoothly swayed out of the store.
(His lips deceived people, not him.)
My eyes were shut. But I saw him there, too.
(He is a knife.)
I saw him everywhere and he counted on just that, it was his revenge. He knew what hurt me the most; it was why he continued to breathe.
(No one ever considered the possibility that it was all a game.)
"I love you, too."
And he loves it.
The air swelters in his room, only becoming more heated as his hands lift my shirt up. His icy hands running up my chest, making me shiver at the contrast to my heat, I bite my lip, hard, to keep in control of myself.
His hands leave me, reaching up to my shirt, just barely pulled over my head, still on my arms, and he grabs it roughly, yanking up so that my trapped arms follow. He twists it tightly, I can feel the pressure as it becomes tighter, and soon I think he may be trying to cut off the circulation in my arms, but instead he hooks part of it on one of those edges in his head board, and I find myself unable to move those limbs.
My mouth opens, to protest this, I didn't want him to go so fast, I wasn't sure this is really the right thing, but his mouth smashed against mine, and my mind spins wildly as his tongue slips in. I try not to moan, as his tongue plays with mine, as his hands map out my chest, as he clearly overpowers my thoughts with just his touch.
His tongue leaves, and I ignore the small line of saliva that is stretched between us as his fingers touch my nipples. I bite down on my lip again as his lips attack my neck, savagely biting it, I know now that there would be ugly red marks and bruises all over it later, but I also knew there was nothing I can do to stop him at this moment.
Even if I didn't want it, I can't fight him.
His hands rush to the waistband of my jeans, and I can feel his fingers slip under it. Suddenly, everything stops. His attack on my neck, his hands, even his breathing, I couldn't hear it anymore. So I let my eyes slide open, let them peer curiously through the dimly Christmas lit room, to those colors glimmering in his golden eyes.
A smirk is over his face, raw, stubborn, lust painted in those eyes, and his smugness is being shoved in my face. He lets his fingers tug at the waistband playfully, almost like he was trying to pretend he was asking for my permission, maybe if I was a girl, or if I was a gullible and naïve guy, maybe then I would actually have believed the act.
But we know each other, and to prove this, I bite my lip and look away, like I'm about to deny him, like I really should, but I fight my amused grin as I hear his angry grumbling. And then my pants are ripped from my legs, and he is crawling up between them again, and my breathing is picking up much too fast to be healthy.
I know what he's planning, he knows I know, and he shows this with his hands, touching everywhere, anywhere, with light and hard presses, making me squirm and writhe beneath him, but I refuse to make any of those embarrassing sounds. I wouldn't give in that easy.
I can't fight him, only resist.
His hand grips me roughly through the underwear, and my mouth drops open as one loud moan rips from my throat.
And I can't even resist him properly.
His icy hands slip beneath the underwear, forcing it off, and those fingers are touching all around there, gliding over everything, finally coming to a stop at my hole, rubbing around it ever so softly. But he can't fool me with this gentleness, I know who he is, and he knows I won't stop him.
And he knows I can't resist him.
Three are shoved in at once, making me yelp in pain, the sting rushing up my back as I arch. It doesn't make me masochistic, the pain doesn't bring me any pleasure, but it's the touch, the act that brings it, the fact that he is the one doing this to me that makes me masochistic.
I wouldn't be able to stop him, even if I wanted to.
His fingers jab roughly all around my inside, and it feels like he's stabbing right through my body, every jab an extra stab, every stab another moan, every moan another jab. And the cycle continues a couple more times until, finally, he jabs the right spot. And I arch higher, I buck my hips as he rubs that spot, presses hard against it, I nearly want to cry from the way he treats it.
Even if I was able to think properly, I wouldn't think to stop him.
He stops, he pulls his fingers out, and while a couple seconds stretch out in between the acts, I can only think of one thing as he lines himself up.
He knows everything.
He shoves in all at once, I scream in pain, he doesn't give me time to adjust, but my screams turn into pleasured ones soon enough anyways.
He knows me.
His hands are gripping my hips so hard, I feel like they're going to break under the pressure as he holds me as still as he can, shoving into me again and again and again like I'm just a doll. But I groan anyways, because I want that, I want him to use me.
And he knows it before even I did, before I could admit it to even myself.
My eyes crack open ever so slightly, and I know those grunts and moans are coming from me, but I wouldn't stop even if I wanted to.
He knows it all.
White, hot flashes through my body.
He knows I wouldn't stop him.
He knows I can't resist him.
He knows he can do anything he wants to me.
And he loves it.
Gulping heavily, I just stood outside the classroom and stared at the door. I was late, the halls were empty already, and the only sound was voices of students and teachers leaking out of their rooms. My grip on my book bag tightened, my knuckles turning a knobby white.
On the other side of this door was just another hour long class, inside just another school classroom, with just another teacher, and just another textbook to read. Just more students to whisper around me, just more ticks of the clock to watch intently, just more breathing slowly so that I wouldn't vomit up-(rainbows)—
I shook my head violently and backed away, letting my back touch the hallway's wall across from the door. I could feel the cool tile against my sweaty back, and I let myself slowly slide down to the floor. Couldn't I just stay here? Couldn't I just skip and wait to continue the rest of my day after this class?
"Ven?" I flinched and snapped my stare up to see him.
But, suddenly, I relaxed, because those were blue eyes, not gold. Not rich gold. It was Sora. The brunette stared down at me in confusion, and I looked away because I knew I would be too obvious if he looked me in the eyes.
This is Sora, Roxas's best friend, not him, Sora. Tan little blue-eyed Sora, the kid Roxas plays video games with in his room. Not him. Soft smiled, gentle, considerate, kind Sora, the guy that drags Roxas to canned food drives at 7 am on a Saturday morning.
Not him. Don't think it's him. Don't think of him. Because it's not him.
Instead, I focused my gaze to the hall pass in his pocket. Of course I wouldn't be able to wait out the class here. Surely an Administrator would walk by eventually, and catch me without a pass. And I can't just skip this class forever, it's a required course.
It's called rationalizing; it's more healthy than you think sometimes.
"What are you doing?"
I flinched again, suddenly remembering that Sora was still here. I look up quickly, but meet his blue-eyed gaze and quickly turn away. Why is he talking to me, the guy who did that to his brother? Why is he bothering with me?
"No shit? I couldn't tell."
I try not to snort; he sounded so much like his brother in that moment, except that his brother probably would've been more blatantly perverted or something, he probably would say something more like, "No shit? I thought your ass would hurt too much for you to sit."
I shake the thoughts from my head, I couldn't start thinking stuff like this, this is why I'm having those nightmares, this is why I can't sleep at night. Wobbling slightly as I stand, Sora reaches out, as if to steady me, but I brush his hand away. I'm afraid it'll feel like him, and if Sora's hand felt like his then…
What would I do?
The brunette stared at me for another moment, as if calculating something in his mind, but Sora isn't that observant, he isn't cold enough to be able to step back and just analyze a person for who they are. He's too nice, he's too good.
His brother is an entirely opposite story.
He takes one look at a person, and he can tell you half their life story, especially the dark stuff. It's like he can look into your heart and find out all your secrets.
I gulped, because I knew. He can do the same thing to me, and he probably has already.
Sora blinked at me, then nodded and began walking away, I made sure to not stare after him, because even if they weren't twins like me and my brother, their likeness was just too uncanny. I don't want to see if he walks with the same attitude as his brother.
Before he disappears around the corner though, he spins around and looks at me for another quick moment, "You… You have to talk to Roxas, alright? Please."
And then he turns the corner and runs off. Leaving me to stare after him like a lost puppy, wondering just why the hell he wants me to talk to my twin. Did they have a fight, or was he referring to me and… him?
No. I shake it off, and I turn my attention back to the door in front of me. I have to do this, I have to go to class, even if I do know what's on the other side, even if I do know that I could really hide in the second floor bathroom and not have to be worried about being caught skipping, even if I could totally vomit right now because I feel so sick and so get a pass to go home… even if I had another excuse, I would still have to face him again someday. It just happens to be today.
Sighing, I slowly let my breath out, attempting to relax myself somewhat. Blinking slowly, I grabbed the door knob, chilled metal making my sweaty palms heat even more, I turned it and quickly walked into the class. Hoping, begging, praying that I didn't look as sick as I felt.
"Glad to see you finally deciding to join us, take your seat," I just nodded at my teacher, letting my eyes hesitantly drag across the room.
My pulse could nearly choke me. I realized it before I even saw it—there, in the far corner of the room, beside the windows; it was the only seat, right in front of those rich gold eyes.
(Arsenic rushed through that rich gold.)
I could feel my feet moving me, could feel my mind begin to rattle inside my skull, and my throat went so dry that I thought it possible for me to really be dehydrating from this. From that sharp, bright smile, more blinding than the sun.
(Laced with chloroform.)
I took the seat, the sound of the sickening screeching of the over-worked metal sympathizing with my stomach. I faced the front, my back stiff, feeling my shoulders freezing already because of him. In front of me, the teacher talked on monotonously, the students whispered quickly to each other, and notes were flying between them at the speed of light. The whispers were about us, just like before, just like they always will be.
… Vanitas… Ventus… VanitasandVentus?Together?
(Whispers laced the air with needles.)
"You can hear them, can't you?"
"What was the point of it all? Nothing changed."
"Did it make you feel any better?"
(I didn't dare look behind me.)
"Did it make them feel better?"
(I didn't dare see that bright smile.)
"Did it matter in the end?"
(Those rich gold eyes.)
"Tell me how much you regret it."
(That painful,real, expression.)
I turned around with a smile for him to see, but it was robotic, painful, it looked foreign.
And he loves it.
Furtive whispers laced the air with needles, dragging along our ears lightly enough to make us well aware of their presence, but not enough to harm just yet. Just whispering our names to each other, as that was threat enough.
… Vanitas… Ventus… Vanitas and Ventus?Together?
I clenched my jaw and looked around slowly at their scathing stares, feeling the ice form on my shoulder before I even could recognize their gazes, but whether the ice was from them, or the freezing hand on my shoulder, I couldn't be sure.
All I knew was that I didn't want it anymore.
I didn't want their glares, or his stare, I didn't want their scowls, or his smile, I didn't want to walk around the corner and see a bunch of guys waiting there for me, and I didn't want his greeting every afternoon in his room. I didn't want the fear, and so I didn't want his love.
That has to be right, that is logic.
It is right, right?
Please… someone say it's right.
I closed my eyes, because I wouldn't be able to do it if I saw that smile, laced with chloroform, if I met those eyes, arsenic rushing through the rich gold, if that expression turned from the stiffness that came with his deceit to something real painful.
Every moment I took felt like an infinite decade, every extra second I stretched this out I could see my damned future behind my eye lids. But I still didn't open my eyes, I knew what I would see if I opened them, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened. Then, again, would I be able to live with myself even if my eyes were closed?
But does that really matter at the moment?
I have to do this.
I opened my eyes.
I whispered the few words, I didn't wait for a response, and I shoved myself against him. His lean body, not very cat-like at all in this moment, still sliced the air to pieces, and he landed in the water of the fountain, an ungraceful splash ripping the water up instead of his knife-like tendencies.
Their stares turned lighter, more dangerous, their whispers turned to laughter, more biting, and I turned around with a smile for them all to see. For them all to appreciate, this me, not his me.
I didn't dare look behind me; I didn't dare see that bright smile, those rich gold eyes, that painful, real expression. He knows I can't forget him, he knows I can't just brush him off like this; he knows that even if I did betray him, I wouldn't go one night without regretting it. He knows, because I told him,
"I love you."
And he loves it.
Roxas just stares at me as I stare at him. Our identical eyes drilling into each other with identical, stubborn gazes, and neither of us seems about ready to back down. Then something on the TV screen blows up, and our attention is diverted for a moment to watch the fire and our gazes immediately lock again the moment it is over, and we go back into the battle. Roxas brings one eyebrow up, frowning a bit more as he seems to think something over, "Hey, Sora… He said something today."
I nodded, our gazes still not breaking.
"He told me to talk to you… why?"
Roxas doesn't scowl, like usual when it comes to Sora telling people to do stuff, because the guy just doesn't know how to ask properly for something. Sora, like his brother, doesn't ask for things, he gets them.
A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the moment where that had been sufficiently drilled into my mind, and Roxas then scowls, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. What did Sora say?"
We're still not blinking, our gazes still locked, and Roxas's face doesn't give anything away, "He says you and Vani have had a fight. I don't believe it."
My eyes snap to the TV, pretending like they had been distracted by something, but both of us know that is a lie. I shrug, "Whatever, doesn't matter."
Roxas frowns, I can feel it, and he also turns his gaze to the TV, but not his attention, and he dwells over it obviously for awhile. With a couple more explosions flashing across the screen with colorful words coming from the people in the show, it seemed like the subject had been dropped. So I would be pushing along without hesitation, I wouldn't be talking about him to my brother anytime at all. Not when I was so easy to break on the matter.
"Sora wanted you to talk to me because he wants you to convince me to have sex with him."
I choke on air, my eyes going wide as my gaze snapped over to him. That was too blunt, too surprising, especially when just in the middle of a TV show with explosions, it was too much of a surprise, "I-huh, what?"
Roxas didn't look away from the screen, but the triumphant tone in his voice showed his smugness, "Well, since you have done it already, he wanted me to talk to you so I won't be ner-"
"WHAT? How does-I mean-I never-"
"Vani fucked you loud, we could hear you guys from outside the house, in the backyard," My face was red, and I just began to bite my lip.
Suddenly, the situation struck me, "Wait, you… You and Sora."
"Huh? Oh, yeah…"
They're together, and they're happy? Roxas isn't embarrassed? Aren't people talking about him? Shouldn't he be like me? Sora wanted me to talk to him because of this, meaning that he knows what happened between me and him, meaning he wants me to do something. Sora isn't like him, he wouldn't torture me by haunting me with the happenings forever.
I yawn, feeling my jaw crack, making me wince, and I found my sight becoming blurry. But I can't fall asleep, I can't because I would be haunted there, haunted with him. That's what he wants, in the end, what he is aiming for with all this. He could do anything he wants to me, he could do anything at all, and I couldn't stop him.
Then… I did. I pushed him away, and this was his revenge, his hate, his anger. He was torturing me slowly, making me torture myself.
He knew, even now, that I was still letting him do whatever he wants to me.
And he loves it.
I was standing next to my friends, listening to them laughing, listening to them joking, all the while with my smile plastered to my face. Fake, painful, robotic, just like his. We hadn't always been this way, glancing across the Mez, straight into that rich gold and the painful smile. Sometimes I would be able to see that smile he used to have, the haphazard, don't-give-a-damn, dangerous and crazy smile.
But I killed it; I did something horrible, didn't I? I made those sharp,weak, eyes, that painful,fake, smile. And the worst part about it was that I did it knowing what the outcome would be, that I would be unhappy, that he would hate me so much. I love him, and I know it, and he knows, but my friends don't.
Those friends next to me, laughing, joking around with each other, having fun with their lives, they don't know how I really felt, in that moment that I pushed him into the fountain and gained the respect of the school once again. Or when we would kiss in that dark, Christmas lit room of his. I was the only one who truly understood how I really was in the end, and him. He knew me well by now, too well… And that's probably why he hates me so much.
He knew the real me, he knew the truth about me, not this fake person that the school knows, that my friends know, he knows how I really feel and what I really think and what I am going to think or feel. He knows it all, he knows me before even I do. It's not that I'm predictable; it's not that I'm an open book, because the only one who can read me like that is him.
He's the only one who would ever be able to read me like that, understand me like that, to see this darkness in my heart and accept it completely, to love it just as much as me. He would be the only one, and I know it. There will never be another one of him and I had pushed him away, into a fountain more specifically.
So he would smile.
He would act like it didn't matter to him, that none of it affected him, and that was how he would hurt me in the end. It was what would hurt me the most, to see him like this. Smiling despite the anger, grinning despite his hate, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes having turned to a gleam of sadistic intent. He wants to hurt me, I've realized it, and it hurts me all the more that he isn't even trying to hide it.
It hurts me deep down, all the time, worse than anything else I've ever felt.
And he loves it.
I lay in bed, my eyes wide as I stared at the ceiling. It was the same thing every morning, I would wake up, I would stare at the ceiling, and I would wish so desperately that I could sleep. But I can't, I can't go through this over and over again.
I brought my hands up, pressing against my eyes with my palms, I rolled over to my side and curled into myself, feeling the pressure in my throat. I was choking, I couldn't breathe, and it felt right.
I jump, flying up into a sitting position and looking up to the doorway, Roxas and Sora stood there, Roxas scowling at me, and Sora wouldn't meet my eyes. But that didn't matter, I got out of bed and wandered over to my dresser, tugging it open and beginning to look for some clothes.
Roxas and Sora, I could feel them staring at me, but I tried to pretend they weren't there. That they weren't together, that they weren't happy. I ignored them, until Roxas wouldn't let me, "Hey, what's the matter with you? You're a fucking zombie."
"Roxas!" Sora snapped quickly, his jaw dropping from the anger he had displayed.
But Roxas shrugged him off, walking away as he shouted back, "He's a dumbass! Living like this without him, it's stupid! It's not living!"
A door slammed, making me flinch, but I still didn't turn around. Sora just stood in the same place, just stared at me. I wanted to turn around and shove him out, shove him away, because I wanted to blame him, for making what was supposed to be wrong alright.
It can't be like this; it can't be that I screwed up because I was being a dumbass. They can't be right, because that wouldn't make sense, it would mean that what I did was wrong, that I screwed up royally, that I'm going through this torture without good reason.
It can't be like that, it just can't.
His eyes were drilling into my back, though, and I could feel their intensity. If I let myself drop my guard for even a second, I'd be fooled into mistaking those eyes for his. So I can't relax, not with those eyes, because then I'd do something that I would most definitely regret, and I know it.
"He's just as bad… in his own way."
No he's not. That wouldn't make any sense. He's taking out his revenge like this. I'm being tortured. He's putting me in pain.
And he loves it.
Lying in his bed, my cell phone was vibrating on the pillow next to me, again. Friends, they were calling me, trying to talk to me, trying to ask me if the rumors were true. Did those people really see me and Vanitas together at The Usual Spot, a make-out spot for teens? Did we really get caught by an administrator kissing in a utility closet at school?
Did I really take it up the ass?
Yeah. I did.
He lay next to me, one arm thrown over my waist, the other under his own head, and I had to fight the urge to curl up against his cool body. For one, he didn't like cuddling very much, and two, it would hurt like a mother fucking bitch.
Technically, it had been rape. Technically, I had tried to tell him to stop. Technically, I had been held against my will. Technically, I did bleed a little. But to hell with technicality, it was fucking good and I really didn't regret it happening.
I watched his face, turning so much gentler in his sleep. Like a mask hiding his true self. Or maybe it was the other way around? Was his cruelty a mask for this gentleness?
Ha, yeah right. He was all sharp edges; there was no gentleness in his personality. He even deceives people in his sleep…
I shift, ever so slightly, and wince, biting my lip, as I feel the stabs running up my spin. It stings, and I feel a little wet sticky stuff drip out, I couldn't tell if it was blood or…
My cell phone vibrates again, and I suddenly feel disgusting.
I've been hiding this from them, because it's wrong, and I know it is, and I know they would hate me. But right now, despite it all, why do I feel so happy that this has happened? It doesn't make any logical sense, and I just wanted one damn reason for it to all be right.
Just one damn reason for this all to be right. For it all to be okay.
I hiss as a finger is jabbed into my side, making me jump, and making more pain race up my spine. My eyes snapped over to the golden pair, gazing back to me, burning me. He grinned, devilish features making a knot form in my stomach.
My cell phone vibrates again, and he frowns, reaching over to the pillow and picking it up. He glanced at the screen and threw it over his shoulder, letting me hear the smack it makes against the floor before he jumps up, straddling me and digging his hands right back into those hand-shaped bruises on my hips.
"Ready to go again?"
He knows I'm confused. He knows that I'll let him do anything to me. He knows that this is the time where taking advantage of me will hurt me. But he does it anyways, because it's like he can hold onto me tighter that way. As long as I'm caught in between trying to figure out why this feels right when it's wrong, and just forgetting about it all together, as long as I'm stuck between choosing him or my friends, as long as I still love him… he can take advantage of me all he wants.
And he loves it.
I sat in the lunch room, holding the soda can up to my lips, but my eyes were locked on the corner of the table, my mind shutting down slightly as I felt my ears ringing. I hadn't slept properly in weeks, the dreams of him, of us, of what happened, repeating again and again in my sleep. This was some kind of medieval torture, I had researched sleep deprivation, and I knew that soon I would be involuntarily sleeping; my mind wouldn't be able to keep me up like this.
I wasn't built for this. I can't do this anymore. I just can't. I can't live like this. If that meant sacrificing my friends for him, for my sleep, for my sanity and happiness, then what was wrong about it in the end? Roxas had done it. And right now, he's giggling with Sora at an empty lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria, no friends with them, but just happy with each other. What was wrong with that?
Was there anything wrong with it to begin with? I can't even remember why I did it then. But by this point, would he ever take me back anyways?
A hand was slapped on my back, making me jolt forward and start coughing uncontrollably. I put the can down, looking to my side with a glare at Terra, but he was just smirking and looking behind me. My eyes widened a bit, knowing that nothing good would be waiting for me when I turned around. Call it instinct or just figuring how my life has been going for the past couple weeks or so.
Turning, I looked over my shoulder to see just what I expected. That rich gold, painful smile, and anger. The anger was different; it was usually another expression, an expression that usually held a vengeful feel, not anger exactly. So I sat still, not sure what to say, not sure what to do. This would be a moment, I knew, one that would haunt me for the rest of my life, he knew, something I would never be able to forget about, like him, and despite that, I couldn't tell if I should try and mend things or keep up my own torture.
Could I mend things anyways? Would he ever forgive me?
"Tell me how much you regret it."
Nothing, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know how to say it, so I did the same thing as before: I smile. Painful, robotic, fake, and he knows it.
He kisses me, I let him, and the face he makes tells me everything. It wasn't anger, it wasn't vengeful, I knew what it was.
He told me so.
"I love you, too."
And I love it.