Cruel Intentions | ✓

10 | WORTHLESS WORDS

10
WORTHLESS
WORDS

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WHEN HE GOT in her car two days later, she felt her body tremble.

I didn't think you'd come, she said.

Anything for you, he replied absently. She got a feeling he said that to a lot of girls.

She started the car and began to drive with no destination in mind. No matter where she went, she always ended up driving circles around him.

What's this? he asked moments later, his hand gingerly touching a new scar that ran down her forearm. She stopped herself from flinching at his touch.

I had a knife, she said quietly.

Her body felt foreign. Dirty. There were so many bruises that weren't his. Shouldn't he be upset?

He clenched his jaw and turned to look out the window. Despite his jaded indifference to her, he looked different that day. His usual distant eyes seemed to gleam with emotion. His fingers tapped rhythms on his leg. It was almost like he was...happy.

She later learned it was the anniversary of his father's death.

Remember when we first met, and I called you crazy? he asked after a few moments.

Of course she did. How could she forget?

       Well, I'm not, she said.

       She used to be whatever he wanted, and that night, crazy was what he needed. But it seemed he didn't want that anymore.

If you say so, he whispered. He sounded like he was a million light years away from her. He sounded like he wasn't even there.

       He turned his gaze out the window again and the sunlight kissed his pale skin. His lips were lifted in a wistful smile, thoughts no doubt straying away from her.

       He never thought about her the way she thought about him.

       She hated the way she felt, like an empty shell that had been used and discarded. She silently yearned for his familiar touch, for his intoxicating poison.

        It wasn't fair for him to take it all away just like that.

       She hadn't meant to hurt him. She would take it all back if she could because his absence was slowly killing her.

She stopped the car by the riverbank and looked at him. Why, oh why, was she still drowning in thoughts of him?

She took a deep breath.

Do you love me? she asked.

He froze and said nothing. He didn't even look at her.

Look at me. Look at this, she pointed at all her bruises. Blue and purple bruises that ran up and down her skin, leaving her a broken piece of wretched art. I thought you were protecting me. If you didn't love me, why did you do this to me?

He was silent for a few moments.

He looked at her body. The body he had painted and then destroyed. The body he had stolen and damned. His gaze on her made her heart race. Was she still beautiful to him?

But then he turned and reached for the car handle, only to find it locked.

Let me out of the car, he demanded.

He was tearing her into pieces and she was letting him.

Let me out, you fucking psycho, he snarled.

Don't call me that, she said.

He banged his head against the headrest and took a deep breath. She could sense his anger feeding into the deafening silence.

Just answer the question, she pleaded. Do you love me?

Why couldn't he just say it? They were just words. Words meant nothing.

When he still didn't reply, she wished she had let herself fall into the piercing kiss of the knife. Wished she had colored herself in blackening blood so he could never look away from her again.

You don't have to mean it, she whispered, pleading for those dark eyes to show some emotion for her. You could at least lie to me.

She just wanted to hear those worthless little words.

Because she would rather love a liar than love nothing at all.