Why I Love You; Why I Hate You

Why I Love You, Why I Hate You

It was in your eyes at that very moment that I knew; I knew how this night would end. Your stare was cautious, but it held that subtle tone of insanity that it always had. You had power, you were power, and you damn well knew it. What you did not know was how that stare was making me weak in the knees, how with one gentle touch you could have me right then and there, that was something I would not let you know, not now at least.

If you keep looking at me like that and I wonle to hold back any longer. I want you, more so then anything else I can think of. My palms are sweaty, and my eyes won't blink, they don't dare break our gaze. You move closer, only slightly, but I can sense how bad you want this as well. My body jerks me forward and I step in your direction, you seemed shocked by this, but it's all I can stand to do. You move closer as well, then stop and smirk, that cold icy smirk that I have seen far to many times. I hate you for that; I hate the fact that you can do this to me. I hate the fact that I want to rip you into pieces and make love to you at the exact same time.

You notice the look in my eyes change and move in again, our faces now only inches apart. I can feel you breath, warm and inviting on my face, and my eyes close. My hands twitch nervously at my sides, wanting to hold you, wanting to hit you, but I hold them there, helplessly as you bring a finger to my mouth and press it against my wanting lips. My eyes open straightaway, gazing into your gray Irises...I melt...I fill with rage. Pushing your finger aside with my cheek I kiss you, for the first time. You seemed as taken back by this as I am. It takes you a moment to kiss back, but you do, hard and desperately.

I feel like I am drowning, drowning in you. It is like taking a sip of water after a long hike, wanting more and it seeming to be an unquenchable thirst. I keep kissing, my hands finding a comfortable place on your lower back. You suck at my bottom lip, your teeth are bruising and far from gentle, but there is comfort in that. Your hands are tangled in my bushy hair, and I hear you moan into my mouth as I push into you, feeling proof of your desire.

Gasps. Teeth. Moans. Desire. Hands. My head is swimming in emotions my heart cannot decipher. This is wrong, I know it, I can feel it, but the physical sensation of it more then clouds all my reasoning. Your hands moving up now, I have no reason to stop you. I can taste blood in my mouth, I'm not sure whose it is, probably both of us. You pull away, eyes scanning me for an answer to why this is happening. My expression holds no such response and that seems to scare you. I'm always the logical one, but for this, I have no reason.

Our mouths lock again, but this time I am the one to stand back. Your eyes are on fire, and I can fee face burning, your stare leaves more marks on me then your hands ever could. My lip stings and I touch it lightly, and gaze down at my hand. Blood. This is wrong, my mind races back to logic but you are standing in front of me again, your hands grab at my own, your grip is tight, strong, and painful. I don't know how it got to this. I don't know how I even got here, but this moment is precious in a sickening twisted way.

Right now I need you. Your skin is beautiful, glistening in the moonlight of the dark room, blond hair fallen across your forehead. I kiss you again, just as desperately, and your hands jerk me into you. Hips rocking and moans lost in bruising kisses. I am lost; there is no turning back. My hands fumble with your robes, my mind both cursing and blessing the layers of clothing between us. I feel your grip on my wrist and my eyes snap upward to peer into your own. Your breathing is ragged; beads of sweat already lacing your hair. You speak.

"This is wrong"

I already knew. I didn't think you cared. I stare back, my mouth gaping open, but no sounds to emanate from it. Whispers. Shaky hands. No response. I reached for you again, pushing you to the floor forcefully. Your head hit the cold stone floor. A word called out in pain. I never noticed. I was now the abuser, you are under me, and that feels good. Power over you was something I have never had. Your eyes have changed; your features are softer, almost angelic. This angelic glow clashed horribly with the blood on your lips.

I stop. I breathe. I am horrified with my actions. I stand to my feet, your eyes silently pleading for me to come back down, but I look away. I can't do this. Tears. I turn away.

"I'm sorry"

No response. Empty footsteps.

The End

By Nicole Vallance

April 25 2003