Madness.

6.

Three days. That's all I'm willing to take.

I sat on the balcony of Blue's Monte Carlo penthouse. Basking in the salt filled shade in a two-piece bikini smaller than anything I'd ever owned.

I inhaled the coastal air and exhaled my growing fears.

Blue eyes had indeed followed my poorly thought out escape plan, and he'd appeared in time to save me. A comical waste of precious time, but I opted not to object against his judgment. It was obvious that he wanted something from me. No one does that kind of thing without wishing for something in return.

He's fully capable of attaining his so-called revenge without me.

So what is that he wants, money, sex? I don't know.

I felt Blue's eyes graze my form and lace my spine with shivers.

"What is it that you want from me, Blue?" I sighed with my eyes still closed, trying to seem unshaken.

"You're chaos" He said, disregarding my questions as he always does.

"I know." I replied.

"I think it's beautiful." He commented.

I opened my eyes when he said it. Examined him in search of his usual cynical fervor; I did not find it. In its place was an unsettling sense of sincerity that I had never seen. 

It felt wrong.

As if someone had replaced the Blue I knew with a con man.

Or as if a demon had worn a halo to convince a saint that it was not evil.

"You find self destruction beautiful?" I asked.

"Yes, very much so." He doesn't hesitate.

I waited for some demented smirk, I waited for him to slip and show his normal jaded self. I waited to see the beast he'd led me to believe he was. Fangs, wings and all. But I still saw light and I still felt heaven.

Surely this was a trick. Surely he couldn't make such a sadistic trait so innocent. He was a man awe struck with the sight of masochism. And that alone confused me to no end.

"What do you want from me?" I asked again.

"Everything." He said.

He doesn't mean it.

"What do you mean everything?" I asked.

"Everything." He said.

How naive he was to think that he could stand it. My everything was nothing. It was raw, blood stained insanity. It was the damned voices in my head I found on an empty desert road. My everything was a pain so deep that the oceans get jealous. He knew that I was broken and he wanted it all?

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that he wanted every shattered piece of me but I was no fool.

He leaned close to me, sat only a breath away, he asked-

"Can I kiss you?" 

My lungs did not obey me, they turned my breaths to shaky tremors. 

"You said everything, does that include my lips?" I asked in return.

"Very much so." He looked lost in the sight of my lips.

So he asked again.

"Can I kiss you?"

My lips were met with his own, two soft punk musicians humming sweet and sultry into my mouth, into my body. He found his hands in the empty arching's of my spine and pushed my dying corpse nearer to himself. I feel. I feel. And I feel. The heat raged from his body melted the numbness I thought would save me from myself. The rhythms in his kisses made my body rock, back and forth, blissful with every movement. In fear that I would feel once more, I drew myself away, my body still singing to his tune. His teeth still gripping my lower lip. His eyes still hooded, intoxicated by the music we'd played.

He shut his eyes, lost in a dream outside this moment.

I wondered what he was thinking about.

I wondered if I should've asked.

But I chose to ask him something else.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, my breaths still shaking.

"Yes." I felt the lowness of his voice make his chest rumble.

"Why do save me all the time?" I asked.

"Because someone has to." He whispered.

"Have you even thought that I might not want to be saved?"

I wish you'd let me die. I miss the waves, my only friends.

"I have. But I'm too selfish not to." 

There it is. I knew it. Personal gain. Humanities only motivation to do anything.

"What if I can't be saved?" I asked.

"What if you can?"