Cruel Intentions | ✓

04 | TRUE LOVE

04
TRUE
LOVE

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        IT WAS MIDNIGHT when she found herself outside his house, leaning against her beat-up car, hidden in the shadows across the street. She liked staying hidden. People were always looking at her, pointing at her, whispering about her.

       Sometimes it just got really loud. The way her mother cried, the way her neighbors gossiped, the way the city just never shut up.

       So she relished in the silence as her lips wrapped around her cigarette. The smoke danced into the air, curving through her vision as she watched the shadows move in his window.

       She watched the outlines of two people mesh, face to face. She watched the two black shadows become one, connected by their moving lips. She watched his hand run through his partner's long, wavy hair, staring at the lack of space between them. And when they separated, she watched one shadow leave and come out the front door.

       What a beautiful woman that girl was. Beautiful long hair, beautiful face, beautiful figure. Just so fucking beautiful.

       She watched the girl leave, hips swaying as she walked down the street and faded into the darkness.

       The cigarette was burning out. Shaking her head, she pushed herself up against the car and pressed the butt of the dying cigarette against her elbow, making sure to leave it for a second longer than usual. And then she made her way to his front door.

       The house smelled like alcohol when she walked it. He smelled like alcohol when he appeared in front of her.

       He smiled lazily and collected her in his arms, like she was delicate porcelain. His hot breath sent shivers down the back of his neck. His hands danced against her waist.

       She's pretty, she said quietly.

       His hands tightened around her. Not as pretty as you.

       She stepped away from him so he could see her eyes brimming with tears. So he could see her pain. She yelled in frustration and dug her shaking fingers into her new burn.

       Look! she shoved her elbow at him. Look what you made me do!

       He watched her body tremble. I didn't make you do that.

        You did! You did! she cried.

       He grabbed both of her wrists tightly and stared down at her. His fingers dug into her skin, his hold just a tad too tight. He looked positively menacing.

       His eyes were swirling, like he wasn't looking at her but through her.

       God, she just wanted him to see her.

       He stood in a trance for a few moments, seemingly lost in the endless thoughts tequila brought to him. Blinking, he released her and turned, making his way to the beat-up couch. He sunk down, his hands rubbing his face and tired eyes.

       She stood at the doorway for a moment, heart bleeding on her shoulder before she followed him. Was he tired because of her? Sinking into the couch beside him, she whispered, I'm sorry.

       He simply grunted before laying his head down on her lap. She stared down at his drunken form, softly running her hands through his hair. Her fingers delicately touched the burning skin on his cheek and he pushed himself closer to her touch.

       He was so beautiful.

       Baby, it's going to be okay, she whispered as she lightly stroked his hair. I'm here. I'm right here. He was breathing lightly, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

        Thank you, Alexa, he said softly, snuggling deeper into her hold.

       Her hands froze because that wasn't her name.

       Her throat closed as she held back a sob. It hurt her so much. It hurt more than any of those scars he left on her. More than any cigarette burns she gave herself.

       Blinking rapidly, she resumed her light stroking. She was too tired to fight. Too tired to cry.

       If Alexa was who he wanted, then that's who she'd be that night. She would be whatever he wanted, as long as he wanted her.

       She told herself it was true love.

       And perhaps it was love, but there was nothing true about it.