The Bad Ones

by Stylo Fantome

As his teeth left bite marks down the side of her neck, she thought maybe she didn't need oxygen anymore. He could just breathe for her.

Just burn it all.

But all he had was a flame and a thought, and without bothering to dwell much on either, he set their dining room table on fire.

She wanted to go, wanted to corner him somewhere, wanted to kick and scratch and bite until he recognized her for what she really was – his reflection.

Little red riding hood fell for the wolf.

Being a teenager is so very black and white. I long for technicolor.

Don't be afraid. And don't disappoint me.

At least someone gets a happy ending.

So much darkness. Falling in love with this chick would be easy, but surviving each other … that's an entirely different story.

No, I'm not scared of him. I'm terrified.

“there is no 'Dulcie and you', so why would it be weird?”

No, we were almost everything.

Jesus, just break up with his poor kid before he realizes you're fucking psychotic.

He was right. She'd thought it before – what had made the man think he could possibly be allowed to touch her, to sully her with his presence, and not pay the consequences? Didn't he know he was trespassing on private property? The sole property of one very dark boy?

But stupid girl. When Constantine Masters said something, well, so shall it fucking be.

He was fucking the last pieces of the old Dulcie right out of her, and by the time he came, that girl was long gone.

“Stupid boy, I was wrecked long before you showed up.”

Oh yeah, tomorrow. That's still a thing.

Who wanted to waste time with dating when there were explosions to be had?

“Don't ever be scared. It kills me. From now on, tell me whenever you're scared, and I'll take away your fears. Tell me when you're hurting, and I'll bleed for you.”

“Some day you will. Some day, you'll really love me, and if it's even half as much as I love you, we'll set the world on fire.”

Silly man, that's room temperature for me. Careful, you might get frostbite.

They knocked over a can of paint, and as they pushed and pulled against each others bodies, screamed and cried out as they tore into each others souls, everything was coated in black.

“It needed to be said in blood,” she whispered.

kissing him still felt exactly the same as it had when she was seventeen years old. Like all her favorite things, rolled into one. Like every dream, every nightmare, she'd ever had.