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Unrequited love tends to be a wound that festers into a raging sepsis, if not treated right away.
The poor sandwich has suffered more trauma in the last ten minutes than an MMA punching bag,
Intelligent and emotionless eyes, like those of a man who would dine on your heart with one of those fancy little cocktail forks, all while wearing a bib and a callous smirk the whole time.
“I was thinking a pair of pretty lace panties to wear when I have you kiss my ass.
“Keep the knife. Shove it up your ass and fuck yourself with it.”
Who knows why. Probably daddy issues.
“You know, it’s not like I’d know where you’re taking me, anyway. The swamp is a foreign, creepy place where strange creatures dwell.” “Then, I suspect you’ll feel at home.” “You better have a smile on your face right now, Bergeron. Remember … I have a gun.”
“I have to admit, I find you mildly entertaining. For a pain in the ass.” “And I find you mildly charming, for the hole of said ass.”
“Oh, come on. The heat will cook any bacteria in my mouth.” “I have a feeling yours is the rebellious, resistant variety that would take the infernal flames of hell to kill.”
“Because it’s like any destructive force of nature. Too much creates imbalance. And a love that strong would consume a person. Put everyone around them at risk. Love kills.”
“You frustrate the absolute fuck out of me,” he growls, releasing my jaw. “Savor the kiss, moiselle. It’s the only one you’ll get.”
I allow myself to fall into the descent of this untrodden darkness, like Alice falling into Wonderland.
“My name is Thierry James. Bergeron is my mother’s name. My father is Russ James.”
So, by default, aren’t you bad, too? The big bad wolf who eats young girls in the woods.”
The ravenous craving to know what an angel looks like when she touches heaven.
“You’re right. You can’t change who I am. But you’ve already changed what I want.”
“You’re free to wear whatever you like, catin. Just as I’m free to kill anyone who looks at you in it.”
“Right. Allow me to rephrase: I’d have firmly introduced my stilettos to the inseam of your perfectly pressed slacks.”
“And now that you’ve torn me open, are you disappointed?” “No. Unfortunately, I’m twice as intrigued.”
“So, what’s beautiful, then?” Some of the humor in his eyes fades, and he leans forward to kiss me. “You,” he says, forehead pressed to mine. “Je suis fou de toi.” “What does that mean?” “I’m crazy about you.”
“You’re hard to forget.” “But you’ll forget me. You have to, right? When you turn me over?” “I’m not turning you over to anyone.”
So fucking beautiful, it hurts. La lune. Les étoiles. Ma Céleste. The moon. The stars. My Céleste. It’s here, in this moment, that a ludicrous thought enters my mind, and I realize what lengths I would go to, to keep her. I would take on the most dangerous cartel in Mexico for this woman.
“To be jealous, one would have to assume that you might eventually stray. You’re not going anywhere. And neither am I.”
“I don’t want anything else, but you, chère,” I say, raggedly. “No one else.”
“Because I’m too fucking selfish to give up what I love for anyone. God, or devil. Heaven, or hell.”
