I Love You, Juliette.

Chapter 1

I never wanted to marry you.

At times like this, I know exactly why I was named Legion. It's fitting in my position as I continue to lust after your sister, Juliette. You're too perfect for me. You're too fitting for a guy who's emotions are harbored in a nuclear trench. You're the exact reason why I've stayed from girls like you all my life.

It's because I'll turn you into people like me.

I hate weddings. I never understood why people have them and I'll never understand why I chose to have one. I just blew 90k on a fucking scam and paid a priest to say a few words from a book, then improvise the rest to the point we exchange cheap vows and expensive carrot rings to finally kiss in front of people I hate.

Yes, Juliette. I hate your family.

But, I seem to hate my family a bit more, so I'll consider your family tolerable.

The reception was a handful of words, but I could only pull it down to a word the fits it perfectly. "Oof." Luckily the court was large enough to fit all the extra company Juliette wanted to invite.

From what I see, you're happy with how things are going. Your cheerful chatting with my mother and father beside the expensive structures of art that were placed on the side of the room that you so "needed" to have there. The constant laughing you're doing with your abnormally hot bridesmaids that wore those perfectly fitted mermaid dresses. I noticed you're talking with your hands. You're bragging in their single faces as they awe at you as if you were their ultimate. Waving 'n wagging the rock on your finger that meets your standards as a grade A trophy wife. It actually does. It looks great on you, Juliette.

The court was loud and the dancefloor was busy with dancing bodies. All the corners were full and I was trapped in my silently eerie box that I made for myself at the bar. No one but me with dread on their face.

"Hey, Mister", She said from behind me. I recognize that cooling voice anywhere.

I turned around and looked at her crystalized eyes that consumed me. I had no words. I just flashed her a smile and replied, "Hey".

She wore her hair short and her dress was tight. I can't make my obvious oogling noticeable, but I've always felt like she has known. Those beautifully shaven legs that illuminated to the dimly lit room and her matte black, outsider dress showed she was a lot of trouble.

She's trying to get lucky tonight. She doesn't regularly try as hard with her appearance, but her flirtatious delays, posture, swagger was spewing. Although it isn't me who she's trying to hook.

"How's the wedding going, Satan?"She asked as she sat on the stool beside mine.

"Satan? Really, Blake?"I laughed as she ordered herself a beer. She chuckled as well and her gentle laugh made my dick crazy. She made my brain lucid and made my heart thump like someone was punching my torso.

Her reddened lips embraced the edge of her bottled brew and all I could do was imagine her mouth being against my shaft exactly like how she's patiently sipping her drink. Everything was in slow motion as I watched her speak and place her hand against my forearm.

"Are you listening to me?"Blake asked as I got done with my lewd daydreaming.

All I did was calmly say, "No," and poured more bourbon into my shot glass.

Blake quieted and looked at me as her hand was still against my arm.

I couldn't look back. I couldn't handle the fact that she would be able to see the want in my eyes if I happened to glare back at her.

"You're caught, "She says taking her hand away and I arched my brow.

"Hm?"I say keeping it short.

Busted.

"You're getting cold feet" Blake's face showed obvious disappointment.

To defuse I simply asked, "What makes you think that?"

She practically snorted, "Look at you. You're at a bar instead of standing with your wife. You're already practically shitfaced. You don't look happy at all, but in that case, you don't really have emote anyway."

I hate people who think they can read other people. It's fucking annoying having people dissect others as if it makes them superiorly a psychologist or therapist or some type of person who could empathize. It's like being diagnosed.

Sadly, she is right.

"Incorrect, "I lie to humble her presumably high ego and continued, "I also DO have emotions and what makes you think you're an expert? Do you have a pen and notepad waiting in your clutch or is tucked away in your Spanx?"

Blake makes that same soft laugh and rolled her eyes, "You're an asshole. I still don't see what my sister sees in you. Maybe it's the suits."

At last, she changed the subject. Stirred her away from the tracks.

"I'd say my Jawline and amazing taste in food, "I joked while taking another shot that went directly to my head.

From the corner of my eye, I could still see her smiling and I smiled as well. We have quieted once again. Nothing but the usually formal chatter that painted the room.

"I hate that I love you, "I mouthed silently.

I really do, Juliette. I hate your sister so much that I love her. It's like the coke I snorted at your birthday party when your friends and Blake came over to play those awful board games. I fucked you to the thought of your sister later that night and I hated myself for it. I hated Blake for it. I hated the coke for it. I needed to get high just to get through the day with them. With you. With her.

I wish I could somehow love you, Juliette. I do, but it's not the same.

"Don't hurt my sister, Lucifer," Blake says gently. She continued, "I know you might and that's okay. Just don't destroy her because she's still...innocent."

I poured more alcohol into my empty glass before lying and replied, "I won't."