For Love of Evil - [Roman Godfrey/Hemlock Grove]

-1-

His lips pressed against hers with want. He whimpered against her mouth as she gasped lightly, letting his breath fill her lungs.

Roman smelled of cigarettes and... something else, sweet. Her hands held his soft face, his pale skin under her palms as her fingertips trailed down the sides of his neck. She could feel his heartbeat, fluttering under her touch.

Confusion had set in the back of her subconscious mind as to why she was doing this; why she was following the boy's demand. Of course he was beautiful, almost like a doll, with large green eyes that held haunted secrets. His lips were full as they danced across her lips and... wet?

The sudden realization of the warm sticky liquid that tasted of rust broke Anita from her trance as she pulled away from the boy's mouth.

In a swift movement, Roman's hand was clasped firmly around Anita's throat, gazing into her eyes with wide ones. There was a stoic expression that weighed heavily on his face; there was no hurt or pain, only anger as his nostrils flared with a fury Anita only presumed existed in hell.

She struggled to breathe, one hand resting on the wrist that gripped her airway, the other placed gently on his cheek. Anita's brows raised as she stared at the smeared blood beneath his nose, the red fluid staining his plump lips as she began to register the blood from his sudden nosebleed was probably all over her own face.

"Roman..." Anita managed to choke. It was as if Roman had realized what he was doing.

His grasp on Anita's throat loosened, his hand trailing to the back of her neck as he pulled her face back to his with a strong kiss, never minding the mess he was leaving all over her beautifully scared face.

"Roman." Anita mumbled against his lips, trying to pull away again.

Roman sighed with a groan, dropping his hand from her head before his lips left hers. "What?" He growled, as if the blood trailing out of his nose wasn't happening.

Anita's brows furrowed in concern as she stared at the hateful boy that was beginning to frighten her. It appeared he didn't understand what the problem was.

Had he not seen her face covered in his own blood?

It wasn't until he wiped his nose with his hand that she realized just how crazy this guy truly was. He saw it. How could he not see it? It was all over her lips - all over his hand.

"Roman, please... you're bleeding." She stated the obvious, hoping it would bring him to his senses. Her body ached for him in ways it never had with anyone before, but even Anita knew when logic outweighed biological instinct.

Roman was bleeding, he was hurt - were her thoughts.

Anita closed the small gap between them. Unafraid, she held his angelic face in her hands, wiping away the remaining blood above his upper lip.

Roman stared down at Anita in confusion, questioning why she hadn't ran away. She's stupid not to. But instead, Anita continued to hold his face, stroking his smooth cheeks with her thumbs. She brought his lips to hers again, gently planting a small kiss on his plump, sticky lips.

Roman couldn't seem to understand. This girl was no longer mesmerized by his tricks, and yet here she was, caring for him like some kind of mother. The kind gesture sickened him, almost.

Roman now took it as a challenge, to show Anita just how awful he truly was. He needed her to regret this; he needed her to hate him as deeply as he hated himself. The girl was a fool - an idiot who wouldn't know bad if it hit her in the face. Or in this case, bled on it.

Roman trailed his hand through her mousy brown hair like a snake, letting his inner self take control. Roman grabbed a fistful of strands, snapping her head back as he stared down at her throat, licking away the blood on his lips.

"Roman, please... stop." Anita's face scrunched in anguish as she tried prying his fingers out of her hair.

Roman's eyes roamed her flesh until reaching her eyes. The boy she had thought to look like a haunted doll now looked like something evil.

"Go home. This never happened." Roman seethed. He dropped the girl's head, letting her go. She stood perplexed, until her feet began to unwillingly follow his orders.

Roman watched as she slinked away like a wounded animal, reaching in the inside of his blazer, pulling out a white handkerchief. He wiped his nose, sniffing back the fresh blood that was beginning to fall to his upper lip.

Something needed to give. Roman was bound to give into the voices, but there was something else inside of him - something that was pulling him away, a goodness.

Roman could have had his way with that girl had he wanted, but instead, he found the willpower to stop himself. Nothing made sense, only that there was an insatiable hunger to wreak havoc all over.

He found that he would sometimes give into his instincts, but somehow manage to pull away from the thoughts (the voices) coaxing him to do it. The voices were getting stronger, his self proclaimed righteousness was becoming weaker.

Roman wasn't sure how much longer he could hold onto the goodness that was dwindling away, or if there was such a thing as goodness within him.

Roman pulled out a pack of cigarettes, placing the filter between his blood stained lips as he lit up the tip. Smoke billowed above his head as he gazed out into the night, internally laughing at the fact that Anita would have to walk home alone in the dark tonight.

He was wicked for doing it, but it was the only way to save her from himself; from the voices that encouraged him to do something he couldn't turn back from.

Sex. For years, it had just been sex. He no longer only wanted that, no, he wanted something else. Something so sinister he wasn't sure if he could turn back from it once it started. Roman found himself unbearable, disgusting and ugly.

A monster.

He was a beast that had done things so terribly wrong he was unable to repent for them. But damnit, it didn't stop him from trying.

Roman looked up into the night's sky, his big green eyes reflecting the light of the full moon before climbing into his red jaguar. He leaned over the steering wheel, reaching for a razor blade resting on the dash. He idly twirled it between his fingers as if mesmerized by its beauty before dragging it across his porcelain skin.

The pad of his thumb began to bleed; he watched the trail of blood track down to his wrist before he licks it away. His tongue travels up against the direction of the blood, sucking the self inflicted wound on his thumb. He sighed heavily at the taste, as the feeling of self loath washed over him like rain and his eyes loll to the back of his head.

Roman's eyes flutter open, taking one last peek at the full moon before starting his car and driving back home.