Love Me, Harm Me

(Devote) Mind, Body and Soul

"I want to read long love letters but I don't think he loves me. I think I'm used up. I think I'm the grit under his nails, the girl who looks good in pictures. I don't think he loves me." - Communion, Jeanann Verlee

.☀.🌑.☀.🌑.

Things still hadn't returned back to normal. Coexisting, living together, was no longer a feasible option anymore. Whenever Elizabeth was home, drifting about the empty-feeling space like a ghost looking for its former home, she couldn't help but feel that everything was off. Solitary hours once spent together on the sofa, mundane silence as she turned on the stove, frowning at the frying pan as she willed it to heat up faster: aside from unavoidable moments of confrontation, they barely interacted anymore. Aside from what was necessary, they barely were around each other.

Withdrawn and reclusive, Meliodas was drawing more sharp lines around his already jagged box. They barely spoke anymore. They barely saw each other anymore. After what had happened that night, stupid words that Elizabeth should have never let slip, he had done everything within his power to avoid her.

Loving him was a dream. Loving Meliodas was an impossible dream that could only happen in... well, a dream.

For the pair of them, there was no reality in which Meliodas could love her. That much was obvious from how he was behaving, locked up in his room or timing his departures so that Elizabeth definitely couldn't slyly intercept him.

These days he was out all the time. Late at night, early hours of the morning, Elizabeth would hear the click of the front door or the sound of him unlocking the bolt. No longer did her door silently crack open - an indicator of him checking up on her. No longer did she creep over to his room, half-asleep and half-sane, baggy t-shirt slipping off her shoulder as she slipped into bed with him. No. They didn't do that. Not anymore.

Coexistence was seeming impossible now. Being the girl he loved felt even more so.

Really, on that night when she came back, fresh from Scotland and fueled by blind determination, Elizabeth should have known better than to let her emotions slip into her speech. Even more so, she should have never let herself try to prove it to him; guilt shouldn't have been used to trick him into her arms, giving her what she wanted but clearly not what he did.

Together they were a mess. Elizabeth would always want what she wanted; Meliodas would always want what he did. Complete opposites, their lives were not made to meld together into one. Two days ago that was what he was trying to tell her. Meliodas himself would never be someone that she could always have around; him being around was what made her life so complicated.

Yet every time, without fail, whenever she felt lonely, lacked the warmth and acceptance that came from being loved, Elizabeth found herself in his arms once more. Top over shoulders, bra unhooked, legs wide open: it seemed she never learned her lesson.

"You need to give it time," Diane released a fatigued sigh, taking a sip from her cream-topped coffee. Across from Elizabeth, stunning in her bright orange scarf and matching black jacket, she looked relieved. Maybe it was because Elizabeth had finally decided to open up to her; for nearly two weeks now she had been radio silent. Shared bus rides became Elizabeth's new reading time; suddenly, work occupied her mind whenever she was in the office.

Talking to Diane - truly talking to her - had been something Elizabeth was dreading. She knew that. Diane knew that. Everybody on the planet knew that. Especially when it came to Meliodas.

"When someone lies to you it's difficult to trust them again immediately," Diane continued, no doubt drawing from her own experiences. A month ago - but what felt like a year ago - she herself had gone through a rough patch with King. An entire life was hidden from her: a new name, a new identity, a new man. "But you can work through it. If you want to, that is."