He wishes he could hate her.
He wishes that he had hated her from the first instant that he saw her, when her beauty tore through is heart and left open chasm that she filled with her pride and her strength and her raw honesty. Now he is left, riddled with the bullet holes where she had passed; now, he is nothing but the spaces around it.
There is something like a groan in his throat when she presses closer to him and his eyes turn like the tides, the waves crashing up against the edges. “Don’t,” he croaks, but it’s a weak defense because she is so much closer than he thought when he opens his eyes again, because he can smell the perfume that is so unique her, because he can feel the warmth spread across his chest like some strange phantom pain.
“You wanted me?” he is incredulous now, wild with his pain, feral as he rides the crest of it. “You wanted me and didn’t care if it destroyed me? I was just a night for you—just an instant.” He wants to weaponize her words against her; he wants them to carve them up as she so deftly carved him, but they feel flimsy on his tongue. They are fragile compared to the roaring beast of pain that now crashes around him.
“This is why I fought it,” he says as he closes his eyes, swinging his antlered head—crazed with pain. “This is why I tried to stay away.” It’s not, he knows. He had fought it because he had distrusted himself and distrusted the way he could break them apart. He had never guessed that the doe-eyed beauty would be poison that slipped on his tongue. He never would have guessed that she would tear him apart.
Tears do not come, but he feels the pain of it squeeze around his heart. It wraps around his throat and he clenches his jaw until the muscles rope there and pain shoots between his teeth. She is so close and he breaks, groaning again as he reaches out for her blindly—always so helpless to stay away from her. So helpless in the face of her gravity. “Kensa, why,” he says as he buries his face in the blonde tresses of her mane. He presses searing kisses across her neck, possessive and brutal and gentle all at once.
“Why did you do this to me? Why?”
BRIGADE
when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake
@[Kensa]