"I've stared at you enough, haven't I? But you, your body, it makes me want to do all kinds of sinful things to you. Before long, I imagine us going at it like bunnies in the storage room, but I control myself. Good things come with time, after all...
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"I took your heart."
~L
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"Y-your... What?" you stammer, the fire immediately doused by my sudden display of vulnerability. In its wake, freshwater trickles down into the stream to feed my own grief. Your natural disposition has come to grace me once again.
"My dad. Died." I allow the tears to pool and slip down my face like glass shards, wrenching themselves into my palms as you stare at me, slack-jawed.
"Oh, my god, Tae. I'm so fucking sorry. How... How did it happen?
I make an attempt to shrug, but I suddenly don't have the energy to do so. Or anything else, for that matter.
"I don't know. I guess he died in his sleep. I only heard about it today," I say quietly. But I know the things that matter.
He died cold and alone. When he needed me most, I wasn't there to stop my brother from exacting his misguided retribution. Always the one who takes and takes like a fucking parasite.
You come around to me and take my hands in yours as you kneel down, urging me to meet your eyes without saying a word, but I can't. I'm afraid of my own voice.
"Are you okay? Do you need me to get you anything? Other than food, I mean," you say.
"I'm fine," I reply, and you look close to crying yourself.
"I can't... I can't imagine what you're going through right now. How are you feeling?" I barely contain my scoff.
Just what I expected. I've become another one of your patients to analyze and pick apart. Why did I even say anything? I threw the mask away just to forge an explanation, and it wasn't even worth what I had to give up in the process.
I look at you with a blank expression. "Shitty."
You gulp and look down at your lap, lips pursing. Your eyelashes flutter like the wings of a monarch perched on a bed of milkweed.
It's almost too easy to wrap you around my finger, Naomi, using the same old tricks that seem to get you what you want from most people. Though I don't have rouge lips to pucker or slender limbs to draw you in, I sharpen my baritone voice on your heart, and my eyes cut right through to your heart as I hold it in my hands, having an eternity to decide whether I should squeeze its remaining life out.
Well, what comes around goes around, doesn't it?
"Sorry. Old habits die hard."
With shaky hands, I reach out to ghost my fingers along your face and am delighted to find that you try, in vain, to suppress a flinch. I continue as if I hadn't seen it.
