Love the way you lie

Rhianna and Eminem

I fumbled with my keys, standing in the hallway of our crap apartment building. I hate this place. I hate it so much. My eyes stung from crying myself to sleep in my car last night. Why do I keep coming back? I officially have no reason to open this door.

I clicked the lock open and stepped inside. Of course he was waiting for me; sitting on the couch with his head in his hands waiting for me. The room smelled thick of cigarette smoke, a small haze of white ash floating through the air. Have you ever loved somebody so much you can barely breathe when you're with them? You meet, and neither one of you, even know what hit them. Got that warm fuzzy feeling, getting chills, used to get them, now you're getting fucking sick of looking at them?

At the click of the door shutting he looked up at me, burned out cigarette between his bitter lips like a weapon. He spat, "Where the fuck have you been?"

I smirked at his attempt to intimidate me, "Noooowheeere" That was the truth but the twist in my voice suggested otherwise. He grabbed the vase off the coffee table and threw it violently at my head. I ducked under it with ease, stuffing my hands in my pockets, pleased with the shattered glass that fell down my shoulders.

"Do you have any fucking idea how fucking worried I was!?" He cursed at an unnecessary volume. I rolled my eyes and stood up straight

"Aaaw" I smiled wide and sauntered over to him, pinching his cheek roughly, "Was little Shizu-chan afraid I wasn't coming back?" I can't stop myself from teasing him, from making him angry. That frustrated look in his eye is toxic and beautiful. I love it.

He smacked my hand away, hard, but not as hard as I had hoped, cursing at me, "God Damn it, don't call me that! Tell me where you were, Izaya!"

I frowned, disappointed at his reaction, "I really don't think that's any of your concern, Shizu-chan . . ."

"Like hell it is!" He stepped closer, his dagger eyes drugging my soul, "What kinda bitch you fuck yesterday, while you were gone?!" That was yesterday. Yesterday is over it's a different day. We sound like broken records playing over.

I forced a smirk across my lips, "The really good kind. Only had to pay fifty bucks too." That was a lie. I haven't had sex since the last time he threw me onto a bed. My mind screamed at my lips for speaking those words. I could see them slowly destroying his beautiful face, gritting his teeth, forcing his eyes to narrow. My words took a hold of his fingers and forced them around my neck, yanked me onto the couch as he climbed on top of me.

That's more like it.

"You fucking whore!" He shouted, vibrating the couch. His nails dug into my neck, his rage seeping out in every way he could show it. My smile only encourages his hateful actions, "What's wrong, Shizu-chan? Jealous that I wasn't riding you last night?"

His fingers clamped down hard like a steal knife in my windpipe. I can't breathe but I still fight while I can fight. As long as the wrongs feel right, it's like I'm in flight.

My lungs twisted up tightly from lack of oxygen. I could feel my face losing color and my limbs grow week as the room started to spin. My eyes slipped closed, savoring this tight feeling in my chest, this icy feeling on my cheeks. Oh delicious suffering. My pulse pounded hard through my ears.

It's like I'm huffing paint and I love it the more I suffer. I suffocate. His strong finger vanished from my throat. I gasped for breath as it became available to me. Looking up at him, his golden eyes full of tears, I cursed in my head. His strong hands no longer seemed very strong as they cupped my face, his soft lips caressing my face, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

And right before I'm about to drown he resuscitates me. He fucking hates me. And I love it. I frowned and pushed him away. I don't want these kisses. I don't like these lips. I want, I want . . . God damn it what do I want!?

I slipped from his grasp and stood, "Don't fucking . . . touch me, Shizuo!" I gasped, struggling to catch my breath.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" He stood up after me, reaching out to help me up. I smacked him away. No, you did mean to. Tell me you meant it and I'll forgive you.

"Don't even try to be nice!" I shouted blinking back tears, "I hate you Shizuo Heiwajima! I fucking hate you!"

Now hit me.

"You don't mean that!" He argued and he was right. I didn't mean that. I love him, I fucking love him.

I couldn't control my own hand as it wacked the side of his face to make him mad, to make him hate me back, "I do mean it, ass hole! You damn piece of shit! I hate you!"

I could see the spark light in his face and I almost sighed in relief. His body plowed into mine, bringing me to the floor. I swore to myself I'd never hit him; never do nothing to hurt him. Now we're in each other's face, spewing venom and it burns when we spit them. We push, pull each other's hair, scratch, claw, bite them, throw them down, pin them. So lost in the moment when we're in them.

I let him hit me. I gladly took his punches. It's what I want, I think. He makes me bleed, he makes me bruise, and I push his buttons because I love it; the bitter taste of my own blood, the tenderness of my purple skin. This is wrong. I shouldn't be doing this. I'm just hurting him again.

I scrambled to my feet, wiping the blood from my mouth. I have to stop this. This isn't fair to him. With tears in my eyes I took off down the hall and locked myself in my room. Blood coated the inside of my mouth and I lapped it up thankfully. I licked his blood off my left hand knuckles and compared the taste. His is better.

I made him bleed. I shouldn't have made him bleed. I already break his heart too often to count. It's the rage that took over, it controls us both. But the feeling of my lower lips swelling and my wrists throbbing from his hard, pleasing grip made me smile. He did what I wanted again. I always get my way. And he always gets hurt.

I frantically stuffed my things into a suitcase and headed back for the living room. My eyes made contact with his and examined his broken glasses and disheveled clothes. My heart twisted.

His eyes widened at the sight of my suitcases but I didn't stop my B line for the door, "Wait . . . Where you going?"

"I'm leavening you."

"No you ain't" His face warped in anger again and I couldn't help but love that look. I stared at it, a blush building in my cheeks, as he stormed after me. I quickly opened the door and moved down the hall, managing to look away. Here we go again, it's so insane. Cause when it's going good it's going great. But when it's bad it's awful. I feel so ashamed.

Tears ran down my face when his sturdy hand caught my elbow. He pulled me to a halt, "I get mad ok! I get mad and I hit you and I shouldn't and I'm sorry!"

His words just make me cry even more. Don't speak. He doesn't understand. He didn't do anything wrong.

He tried to lower his voice, "But your temper's just as bad as mine is! You're the same as me! When it comes to love you're just as blinded-"

I yanked my arm away and practically sprinted down the stairwell, "Shut Up!" I cried, "Shut up just leave me alone!"

His long, beastly legs skipped over steps with ease, gaining on me fast, "Baby, please come back! It wasn't you, Baby, it was me! Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems!"

I pushed through the people in the lobby and out the double doors, into the chilled August morning. Dropping my bags at the curb, I shouted, "Taxi! Please Taxi!"

His forceful hands spun me to face him, "Now I know we said things, did things that we didn't mean. All I know is I love you too much to walk away now"

I pushed him away, "Go away, Shizuo! I never want to see you again!"

He caught my hands and laced his fingers with mine, "Come inside. Pick up your bags off the side walk. Don't you hear sincerity in my voice when I talk? Told you this was my fault," He roughly grabbed hold of my chin with one hand and turned my head to face him. A whimper escaped my throat. If he keeps throwing me around and unintentionally giving me what I want, I won't be able to walk away, "Look me in the eyeball! Next time I'm pissed I'll aim my fist at the dry wall!"

Don't yell. His shouts drug me and pull me into his chest. He doesn't understand at all. I love him when he hates me. It's better for us if I just walk away. He squeezes me too tightly without realizing and it pushes me over the edge. With pink cheeks and watering eyes, I sigh in defeat, ". . . ok . . . let's go inside . . ."