Dark Passenger ~ Chris Cerulli Fan Fiction *Short Story* {Completed}

Part 6

Chapter Six

The End: If You're Mine Then I'm Your's...

Katrina's Point Of View...

* A Week Later... *

It had been a week since I'd seen Chris...and I missed him. Almost painfully so, in fact, which was new for me and rather unpleasant in my opinion.

I'd spent two days with him, mainly having sex and talking on his bed...and then we'd exchanged numbers and he'd dropped my off at my apartment, and I hadn't heard from him since. So now I was signing along to my 'EMO TRINITY' play-list on my IPod on shuffle - My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco - and dancing along as I cooked.

Currently it was playing Fall Out Boy: Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued.

You just gotta love Fall Out Boy titles.

And yes, I probably looked like a real weirdo: singing and dancing around with my hair in a messy bun, an over-sized Iron Maiden shirt, leggings that so old they were getting a little see-through and fuzzy socks, but I was enjoying myself immensely, which is why I wasn't paying attention when my doorbell rang.

In fact, it wasn't until the third time it rang that it actually registered and I rushed to open the door. I opened it just in time to see a tall, black-haired figure about to get into the lift. Chris.

"Hey!" I called out, and he turned to see me, leaning out of my door in my pyjamas, with no make-up on, smiling like an idiot: "Hello, stranger."

His eyes lit up, the brown turning bright and golden, and his face broke into a relieved smile:

"I thought you weren't going to open the door." he said, smiling as he walked closer, following me into my shabby apartment. It wasn't too bad: just not as nice as Chris's house.

"I may or may not have been playing my music too loud to hear anything. There's this annoying banging noise coming from the floor, and I find that it the music's loud enough then it just goes away."

"Magic." he responded dryly.

I laughed, feeling giddy just being in his presence again: "But of course. I'm cooking, do you want anything?"

"It does smell good. What is it?"

"Pasta, with tomato sauce with vegetables and prawns."

"Then, yes, please."

We chatted idly just like we had before I'd come back home. It was like nothing had changed, and I was all too happy for it to be like that.

Nothing complicated was talked about, nothing that would cause any conflict or anything like that. It was...good. It made me feel happy, as childish as that sounded, and honestly the feeling was as addictive as the way Chris's kissed tasted.

I was dreading letting him go...but I would have to, eventually. He was a successful, intelligent man with a bright future ahead of him. I was well aware that my only future lay between my legs, it was all I ever had been and all I ever would be good for. And Chris could do far better than that.

He should do far better than that. Far better than me. But for now, I was all too happy enjoying his presence.

I wasn't exactly going to tell him he could do better than me. I was human, and genetically that made me selfish and self-absorbed. I wasn't let on that I wanted him to do better than me: because it wasn't exactly true.

Oh, God, was I fucked.

In love with a man who, for all intents and purposes, should never - under any circumstances - love me back. No-one should be trapped with someone like me, especially someone like him.

God help me when he worked it out. He was going to break. My. Heart. Into. Tiny. Little. Pieces. And there was nothing I could do.

"Hey, you okay? You kind of tuned out." Chris's voice said, breaking me out of my rather unfortunate reverie. Probably for the best. That thing was only going to make me miserable.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just...you know. Thinking."

"About what?"

Maybe I should tell him, I thought: rip off the plaster, make it quick. If he leaves now: I won't get so attached to him and it will hurt less when he goes...but then, don't I want to spend as much time as possible with him? Enjoy what I've got?

"Katrina?"

"Oh, right, yeah. Yeah, no I'm fine."

"You don't sound it." Chris gently cupped my cheeks, looking deeply into my eyes: "Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want you to leave me." I whispered: "But at the same time, I do. Because I'm nothing but a pretty diversion, a seductive waste of time. A whore, and I can dress it up any amount of ways, but it all boils back down to the same thing: you're too good for me."

Even to me, my voice sound haunted, broken...but it didn't make any of what I said any less real. And Chris deserved to know that, because he should have the chance to go and find a woman who didn't fuck people for money.

For the first time in my life: I felt regret.

I didn't regret running away from home at fourteen. I didn't regret the years I spent stealing shit to survive. I didn't even regret losing my virginity to a stranger at seventeen for eight-hundred bucks. All I regretted right now was not being good enough for the person in front of me.

And I regretted not knowing it from the start; if I had, I could have saved myself from this. But it couldn't be changed, and so it would have to be dealt with. Whether I liked it or not.

"Katrina? Katrina, listen to me!" Chris called, his hold on my cheeks tightening as he pressed his forehead to mine: "Okay, I can't deny you're a prostitute. It's what you are, and I'd rather you weren't but really, I don't care. You're you...and that's what's important, because..." he swallowed nervously, pulling back for a few seconds before whispering: "Because I love you."

"But I'm not good enough!" I cried, desperate to make him see sense here.

"Of course you are!" he told me desperately: "Fuck, Katrina, Arachne, it's not important. You're the woman I love: what you call yourself or do with your time or how you make your money, it all means nothing to me. I love you, I have almost from the moment I saw you even if I didn't know it...I'm your's, Katrina, and I will love you until I take my dying breath."

I could read the sincerity in this face, see the determination in his eyes, the stubbornness of his jaw. He wouldn't be budged on this...and if he didn't see me as not good enough for him, then I would make myself better. I'd drag myself up to be good enough for him.

"If you're mine," I said in a kind of joyous defeat: "then I'm your's. I love you too, Chris. Until my dying breath."

~ The End ~