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This is the game between us. She wants to kill me as much as she wants to fuck me. And much to my disdain, the feeling’s mutual.
Hello, my angry girl.
Gods, killing people is much easier than having to talk to them.
“And yet you kiss her like she’s oxygen. Like she’s your everything.”
It’s the first time she’s looked at me as though she wants to kiss me instead of kill me.
She holds me in her gaze like old souls and precious memories. As if nothing else exists but me. The way she stares at me steals my breath and slows time.
“Life is a game, Quinn. We’re here until we’re not. We’re winning until we lose. Doesn’t everything feel sweeter when you’ve fought for it?”
“You touch her again, motherfucker, you die.”
They say that love happens slowly. That falling is really the slow knitting and meshing of souls and lives. Of heart beats finding a rhythm to share for eternity. But in this moment, right here, as Quinn reaches for her raw power, her inner rage. As she shows me exactly who she is, the darkness in her soul, I know I’d lay down and die for her. I’d cut open my chest and deliver my dripping heart in open hands.
Falling in love doesn’t happen slowly, it happens in moments of clarity and revelation. In fleeting sparks of action and displays of our true selves.
I swear she lights up the world when she smiles, or maybe it’s my world she’s lighting up.
I’d give her my life if it meant her happiness.
