Stevie and Lindsey were not supposed to be in love.
They were absolutely not supposed to be in love. They definitely were not supposed to be in love now and perhaps they were not supposed to be in love before, either.
They were stormy, at best...and had it always been that way?
Surely there must have been a time when they were not toxic for each other. Surely there must have been a time when they were not toxic to others.
There was no winner here. They could not be one without the other and no one stood a chance against them. They were an assigned team; partners. Partners who were not supposed to be in love.
He was tall and charming and she was haunting and beautiful. He wore his heart on his sleeve and watched as she tried to tuck hers beneath the fabric. He kissed her and pulled it back where he could see it.
He was oceans and dreams; she was places and hopes.
When she kissed him, she gave him hope that it might be okay; that she might be okay. That's all it was - hope.
He held her up and she tore him down and neither of them could stand for much longer. They would die together as surely as the sun would rise.
"Lindsey," she would say when he knocked on her door in the middle of the night.
"Why do you do it?" He would ask as he walked inside.
She would look at him, consider his question. She would interpret it and ask herself the same. She would close the door and expect to be greeted with an angry kiss (not tonight, not this time).
"Why can't you be angry?" She would wonder aloud to him.
"I'm tired of being angry. Why do you do it?"
"Because I need you around," she would say.
"To make you feel good about yourself?"
She would shake her head; the drugs did that just fine, "to remind me there's something to live for."
He would consider it, "do you still...?"
"No," she would shove him emotionally and physically at the mere thought.
"You had better not, either," she would warn.
He would hold her hands against his chest to keep away any more violent reactions.
He would say, "I don't."
"Why do you do it?" She would ask and she would look at him with pain and despair and something like desperation in her tired eyes.
He would pull her close; too hard, maybe, if she were lucky. If he wanted to feel her deep down in his bones. It was the only way she would let him have her. Sometimes he wished he didn't want her at all; wished she would leave him alone.
"Because I need you," he would say. She would bruise his lips with a kiss that felt too passionate and not passionate enough.
This was as much as they let themselves talk about their feelings. They had a gut-wrenching connection that could not be broken by anyone or anything. They both wished that it would break some day, but it was only a wish and wishes did not come true.
"I was good today," the 'for you' was implied when she tore at the buttons and the fabric of his shirt, waiting for her reward.
He would make all the right moves and give her the pain and passion she wanted. He would give her anything and she would take it and it would always be that way. It had always been that way.
In the middle, when he was buried so deep inside her that she could feel it in her entire body he would ask, "why can't you be good everyday?" The 'for you' was implied there too.
When they sit and share a drink afterwards she will say, "you don't like it when I'm bad so maybe you won't like me either."
"I already don't."
He would leave and she would go back to her bad habits while he went back to another life.
They would say they hated each other.
They were not supposed to be in love.
But they were.
