HIM .. Joe Goldberg

LURKING

"WHY DOES NOBODY LIKE ME?" I sobbed.

Charlie's laugh is gruff and sardonic. "Because you're fucking insane, goddess."

I whip my head towards his voice, although all I see is an empty chair. "Shut up! Pedophile!"

"He isn't wrong." Hannah sighs to my right. I look over, but the other side of the couch is just as empty as it was when I initially sat down. "You're losing control, I never thought I'd see the day. You used to be stronger than all of us."

"Strong?" Charlie's voice was rich with disbelief. "Please! She was about as stable as the bomb we dropped over Japan." His tone lowered, pointed and accusatory, "You hear that, Brit? You're a fucking bomb."

"She can't help it. She was hurt as a child."

"Everyone was hurt as a child, find a better excuse."

I began screaming.

*

She was born from the foam of the sea, baby. The foam of the fucking sea. And I was the god who announced her coming, and I was the realm in which she found her eternal blessings, and I was the one who would bring her offerings at day and I was the one who'd slay her sacrifices at night and I was the world from which she absorbed her natural powers and drew her first breath and I could inhale and cave in and fucking take her with me.

It was all

going to be

because

of

me!

It has been ten days since I met Beck, ten days after I met you we were already humping. I'm taking things slow, Joe. Meticulous, delicate handlings. Whereas you tear off the wings, I offer nectar.

You're still not doing any better, Joe.

You're still tearing off the wings.

When I was supposed to bleed out, I was saved with jagged scarring of the damned—haphazard craters along my shoulder blades, down the length of my spine, fresh skin in hideously pink uneven layers from the wings that you tore off, Joe.

It's okay. Scarred as I may be, I couldn't afford to be ungrateful with the fact that I was still alive. I couldn't take flight to the Heavens anymore, but I was more than capable of lurking the depths of Hell with you, my love.

And that's exactly what we're doing, Joe. We're lurking. Two nasty demons born from Hell, scourging for game. Eyes on the fucking prize, my treasonous darling. You already know the rules.

It's hard to not see it as a type of play, to ignore the flare of excited adrenaline as you do something that you shouldn't—that made your soul cry, that tipped your survival instincts with a searing disagreement. The night was young, and the air was thick; I could taste the afternoon's rainfall as a sickly film of humidity on the back of my tongue, stifling against my throat. Sweat began to spot across the hairline of my forehead as my breathing parted in eager little gasps. I look along the crossroad, waiting for the light to change. You still have a little over a block on me, and you walked with a purpose. I don't have much time if I wanted to catch up.

I have to do this. She was born from the sea, and you are an apocalyptic drought. I have to ensure her protection, ensure her survival. I learned to keep my lovers close, and my ex lovers even closer—they always proved to be brutal, and you never showed any reason as to why you'd ever be exempt from such.

I see you. Dark blue Yankees cap. I pull up my hood with trembling hands, bowing my head slightly. My body is hidden beneath an oversized jacket and loose-fitted jeans—I couldn't afford to arouse any kind of recognition, and you knew my curves too well. I can still feel your hands on them. Over my hip, gripping my thighs, forcing them apart.