Emotions

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Ezra

Emotions aren't very useful, especially where I grew up. They're tedious and get in the way of business and more importantly—profit.

Still something simmers inside me, lately. Something new and abnormal for me. I went through it. The entire endeavor— the interaction over and over trying to figure out what made this particular incident different for me—worse.

I don't mind being hit. I don't mind being stabbed, choked, used, burned —it's all child's play and fairly enjoyable.

Maybe it was the sex. That is new. The coldness was not as enjoyable. Maybe because he was genuinely upset at me. I wish this whole thing would go away.

I'm on a road trip with Cain. I could be looking at him while he isn't paying attention, trying to seduce him into letting me give him head while driving, or making him listen to music I like.

But instead I want to escape. I've never wanted to be away from Cain. If I could live in his skin I would. If I could crawl into his brain and exist in it with him—think his thoughts I would. If I could consume him so he could be apart of me forever, I would.

It's silent again. He's always silent.

"I don't think it was the mean things I said. I think it's because I meant them. And you knew that."

I look at him. I thought we agreed to drop it? I'll get over it. Probably by the time we get there, and if not by then, after I have my hands in blood, I will.

Why can't he let it go? He hates talking. He hates me.

"It's true, Ezra. I have resentment towards you and you know why and you know you deserve it."

I nod.

His large hand squeezes my leg again. He keeps his eyes in the road though. So do I.

"But...I shouldn't take it out on you. Yes, you trapped me at first, but I made a choice. I chose you. I meant it. I don't regret it."

It isn't like him to lie. I feel my heart race. He'd lie for me? And I'm mostly over again, because he's too...Cain. I can't stay mad at him. He melts me. I smile, and elbow him gently.

"Roundabout way to say you kinda like me huh?"

Cain shoots me a glare, but the corner of his lips turn up. He pushes my face roughly into the seat, but not as rough as he used to. He's holding back.

Somehow I don't mind.

"Shut the hell up," he grumbles, but he doesn't seem convinced. So I fill the silence with chatter, and watch as the tension in his shoulders ease. He leans back into the seat, finally relaxing.

Good old Cain. Always the problem solver, he can't rest unless the storm abates. It can smell like rain. The grass can be wet. The roads can be slick. But lord, do not let it storm, he will not tolerate a storm.

And why should he?

He's Cain.

I took up to the aux and start playing sounds that I know annoy him. Songs he knows I know annoy him.

He looks at the words Dear Theodosia with contempt, narrowing them, turning the sound down two levels with a relieved sigh.

I grin. Does he really think the volume going from 30 to 28 matters? How adorable. How very Cain.

I sing, purposely off key, even though we both know I can sing perfectly well. Cain's eye twitches, his hands tightening around the steering well.

"You could put it around my neck for taunting you." I offer.

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