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[purplesweatercat]

Crave

Screams. Screams are all Y/N heard. She's not dumb, she knows exactly why. But the last thing she wanted to do was go outside and fight a bunch of pansies in fancy suits. She knew that Brendon would be out there, and she couldn't keep putting off killing him. In life he had been her best friend, but now that he was dead and following the asshole William Beckett, he was far from her friend. She'd heard of other people like her that killed vampires, and hunted them in groups. But she had always considered herself a lone wolf, and wouldn't touch any other hunter with a ten foot pole.  Mostly because she herself was a vampire and knew that hanging out with other hunters wouldn't be good for her health. Most vampires in this part of town were assholes anyway and didn't have the sense to take from blood banks like Y/N.

She sighed, grabbing her stakes and stake guns. The screams weren't getting any quieter, it wasn't like anyone else was going to help all those innocent people. She opened her apartment door, concealing her weapons and acting like everyone else. She could see a group of hunters approaching and rolled her eyes. She grabbed a woman, whispering for her to go inside Y/N's apartment. Most of the people in this part of town knew Y/N, but the vampires did not. Most people were too poor to leave Chicago, so they stayed, living in fear of being attacked.

Y/N flashed a grin at Brendon who cried out as she electrocuted him, successfully knocking him out. Now other vampires were taking notice to her. As was the hunter group, who she winked at. Knocking out as many of the bastards as she could, she ran to help the lone vampire. He looked like he was with the hunters, and if he tried to kill Y/N she knew she'd have the upper hand. He couldn't have been more than a few months old, he still had the ghost of a rosy complexion.

The man killed the last vampire and Y/N kept an eye on him. "Whew. You're not going to give me any trouble, are you?" She asked good-naturedly.

He gave her a humorless smile, and she returned it. She walked off, pulling her stakes out of dead vampires and flipping William Beckett off as she walked back into her apartment. She knew better than to mess with him. She watched Pete attempt to attack Beckett, and she cried out. Beckett got away, and the hunter was grabbed by cops. Great, now Y/N was going to have to help him a second time.

***

Pete glared at the back of the cop's head. Great. He'd been captured and it looked like his friends were too. It wouldn't belong before they were all just food. He must have zoned out, slipping away from reality and drowning in his angry thoughts, because he didn't notice the car had stopped. Something crashed into the windshield, a rock. Pete jumped, shielding his face as best as he could. What was going on?! He opened his eyes to see that girl who'd helped him earlier. She knocked out the cops. Being so close to her, he could now admire her features. For someone with such a sweet face, she sure was strong. Probably because she was a vampire. Her round, child-like face betrayed her tough personality.

"Hey, you looked like you needed help." The girl from earlier said, helping him get out of whatever was binding him down. "Your friends are fine, by the way. I already took care of them." She added.

"How did you- oh yeah. I'm Pete, by the way." Pete said.

"Y/N. Nice to meet you." She replied, shaking his hand.

***

"I'd love to stay, but I have to be going. It was nice meeting you all." Y/N said, going to leave.

"Wait, you can stay here if you want. We have plenty of resources to spare, and we'd love to have you." Patrick insisted.

"That's very sweet of you, but I work alone. I'll help you guys out when you need it, but I prefer to be alone." She replied.

Pete didn't want to see her go, he hadn't ever met a vampire that was on their side. Much less a pretty one with great music taste. He tried to shake away those feelings. He needed to focus on revenge, not some pretty girl. She could easily be replaced, she wasn't anything special.

"Are you sure you can't stay?" Andy pipes up.

"I'll pop by every now and again, and Patrick, I'd suggest adding more holy water to the blood substitute. Not too much, but just a tad would do wonders." She said.

"You don't want to take any with you?" Patrick asked.

"I drink human blood." She laughed when they all gasped, "From blood banks. Pete isn't good at controlling himself because of the blood substitute. It makes him need the real thing. I'd never think of harming a human being, you'll never catch me hurting others." she reassured them.

"That's why it hasn't been working lately?" Pete asked.

She tossed a blood bag at him. "Drink this. It'll help with the self-control and it isn't hurting anyone." She said.

She walked out the door, leaving the group stunned. "Why didn't I ever think of that?" Pete asked. This was life changing. He could satisfy his cravings without hurting anyone!

"Hey guys, she left this." Patrick said, holding up a book.

Patrick flipped through the pages, which were filled with information. A note was stuck on the back of the book. Patrick, it looks like you need this. I have many more journals, and it looks like you're just getting started. If you need more information, my number is ***-***-**** cx

"She really is changing this group." Joe commented.

"Yeah, she is." Pete agreed, though he hated to admit it.

[purplesweatercat]

H3LLH0UND

kinda rare fic, but it’s been sitting in my drafts forever lol. picked it from a full fic i never published ;/ contains blind!reader

Y/N cusses softly as she struggles to find her ring. She'd been twisting it mindlessly, and before she knew it, it'd slipped off her finger. Clicking her tongue wasn't helping much, there were too many clothes and soft things absorbing the sound.

She dug her hands into the toy box in front of her, hurriedly trying to find it. She curses softly under her breath, incredibly annoyed.

"Need some help?" He asks.

"N-no.. I lost my ring in here, that's all." She says awkwardly.

"It's on the floor next to the bin. You blind?" He jokes, snorting.

"Yeah, I am." She blushes, finding her ring after a second of feeling around.

Wrench's heart drops, "O-oh shit- I didn't-" he stammers awkwardly.

She giggled at it, turning to him. "It's fine. You didn't know."

"It was insensitive, I'm sorry. How about I.. make it up to you?"

"Hmm. Depends on what you have in mind. My safeword is Jupiter, just so you're aware."

He laughs wholeheartedly, "You're great." he kneels down, gently shaking her hand. "I'm Wrench."

"I'm Y/N."

He smiles a little. They shop together, talking. "So..." He stops himself from asking.

"No, I haven't always been blind. But that's a story for another time." She smiles, feeling the fabric of a coat.

Wrench doesn't ask about it anymore. He smiles as her fingers wander over every fabric. He catches the wrinkle of her nose when she feels a burlap vest. Her soft lavender hair is pulled into a messy ponytail.

"Y'know, I know you're staring." She says, giggling softly.

She turns around. "Could I, uh.. touch your face?" She asks.

Wrench guides her hands to his mask gently. "Might be a little difficult." He says sheepishly.

"Hiding something?" She giggles.

He smiles, hearts appearing on his LED display. He feels almost normal. It's insane, how easily it comes. "Yeah. My ugly face." He snorts.

*

He takes her home that day. Not for sex, or murder, or whatever else his screwed up mind thinks without his consent. She sits in his garage. She breathes in the smell of gasoline, dust, and oil. It's comforting. She lays down on what she'd previously believed to be a couch, but it ends up being a bed. Wrench watches her, not even commenting. She closes her eyes, relaxing.

His natural scent surrounds her as she breathes. "If you wanted me in your bed, you could've laid me down in it yourself." She jokes, grinning a little.

"Shut it." He chuckles, tinkering with a bunch of wires that he isn't sure what to do with just yet.

"So you live in a garage?" She asks, not seeming to judge.

"Yeah, but only because I never sleep." He says from across the garage. The sound echoes off the many metallic surfaces in the confined space.

"C'mere." She says.

He obeys immediately, despite himself. She scoots over slowly, patting the spot next to her. He strips off his vest, reluctantly removing his mask. It still chills his bones, despite him knowing that she'll never be able to see his face. He lays down, slowly guiding her hands to his cheeks.

She smiles, "You're right, you're pretty damn ugly. Only on the inside though, I like the outside plenty."

He laughs, hugging her tightly. She squeaks, not expecting such a reaction. "I'm sorry.. You're just, really really great."

"So I've been told." Her hands curiously wander over his arms. "You have a lot of tattoos." She states.

"How do you even-" His eyes widen.

"Scarring. It's really faint, but I have better senses than you. I've got tattoos too." She pulls her sweater clean off, tossing it to the floor. She wears a soft, cotton tank top underneath. Her arms are covered in tattoos, most of them intricate and expensive-looking.

"Damn." Wrench says. Don't get a boner, don't get a boner. He chants in his head over and over again.

She's hot, to be blunt and accurate. The perfect amount of curves for her body, and tattoos where definitely Wrench's weakness. Jesus Christ.

She smiles a little. "We should go out sometime. Or order pizza and play Space Invaders. Either or." She suggests.

He smiles, "Pizza and Space Invaders."

She leans down, kissing his cheek before laying back down in front of him.

*

As Wrench takes her to pick up pizza, he lets her get it. She finds her way around with a cane covered in different stickers. She confesses that she likes being independent, and hates being babied. She asks for their order, handing them her card. Her cane is tucked under her arm.

"Ma'am, you have to pay yourself." The man points to the card machine in front of her.

"I, uh, I can't." She blushes profusely.

"Why?" He interrogates.

Wrench yells from the back of the store, "She's blind, idiot!"

The man does it for her, handing her the receipt. He holds onto her arm. She tries to pull away, but his grip is too tight. "You're pretty hot for a blind chick."

She punches him straight in the jaw. "Here's what you got wrong: I'm not pretty hot for a blind chick. I'm hot and a blind chick." She stomps off to the back, cussing under her breath.

"You okay? I was going to step in..." Wrench asks, concerned.

"I hurt my hand." She holds it out. It's bleeding a little, her middle knuckle split.

"Damn." He gets napkins, pressing them carefully to her hand. "Nice job, sugar lumps." He jokes.

She snorts, punching his sternum lightly. "Don't call me that."

Her order is called and she walks up to the counter. She takes her pizza from a different woman, cane under her arm, who apologizes profusely for her fellow employee. Wrench opens the door for Y/N, following her out.

*

They play a few different games, getting pizza grease on the controllers and cussing at each other. All in good fun. Wrench ends up sprawled out on the couch, watching her listen to a movie with descriptive audio. He closes his eyes, doing the same. It's different, and not the same as a regular movie, but it's pretty cool to have to imagine it.

He supposes she must enjoy it by the way she smiles at times. He decides then and there that he'll kill anyone who even looks at her wrong.

He leaves her apartment after kissing her nose in leu of a goodbye. He secures his mask over his face, pulling his hood up. It feels weird after leaving his mask off for so long.

After their semi-date, he'd almost forgotten it was off. The only reason he was aware is because for the first time in a long time, he saw the world through his own eyes. The camera on his mask was okay, but not nearly as accurate as his naked eyes.

When he'd first seen her without the mask, he was blown away. After spending a day with her, he was knocked clear to the floor.

[purplesweatercat]

meanie

word count: 1,025

warnings: arguments

"Hey can I come over?" Brendon asked Y/N over the phone.

"Yeah of course, but it is raining." Y/N replied, shutting her textbook.

"Meh, I only live down the street." He replied.

Y/N shrugged, and then remembered he couldn't see her, "Yeah I guess. See you in a few, hope you get struck by lightning." she replied, laughing.

He laughed, "Do you want me to bring anything?" he asked.

"No, you're good. C'mon, I'll make popcorn." She replied.

He hung up and walked down the street, his hair getting wet and his glasses catching rain drops every few seconds. Y/N and Brendon had been friends since he'd moved into her neighborhood, at the beginning of freshmen year. He was a total dork, even he couldn't deny that, but Y/N didn't seem to care. She befriended him when everyone else was tentative to. They'd started hanging out, and became friends.

By junior year they'd become best friends, and were inseparable since then. Graduation was coming up soon, and Brendon had seen how attractive Y/N had become. Other guys were taking notice too, and Brendon knew it wouldn't be long before some douche caught her eye. He wanted to be with her, but he never had the confidence to tell her that. He shook his head, trying to get even a fraction of the rain water out of his hair.

He didn't even bother knocking on her door, he just walked in. He'd been over to her house too often to knock, and her parents had told him long ago to not even worry about knocking. He pulled his jacket off, and caught the cleaning rag Y/N tossed him as she passed him. He admired her bare legs as she passed him in short pajama shorts. She made popcorn as he cleaned his glasses, and sat next to him on the couch.

"Hey stranger." She said, stuffing popcorn in her mouth.

"Hey. Did you finish the Math homework?" He asked.

"Maybe..." She lied.

"You haven't even started, have you?" He asked.

"Nope." She replied, eating more popcorn.

"Y/N, you can't keep skipping your math homework!" Brendon exclaimed, making her jump.

"It's not like I plan on going to college." She said.

"Why not?" He asked.

"Well because I'm not good at anything, might as well just do nothing." She shrugged nonchalantly, "It seems like the only logical thing to do." she replied.

"I'm sure you're good at something, and you have to go to college if you want to get a good job." He insisted.

"Easy for you to say, you're super talented." Y/N replied coldly, standing up and walking into the kitchen to grab a drink.

Brendon was stunned by her tone. She never talked to him like that, in the entire time he'd known her she'd never once spoken to him like that. Did this conversation really bother her that much?

"What's your problem?" He asked, his voice growing increasingly irritated.

"People like you don't understand what it's like to have no talent. You're good at something, but not everyone is. Some people don't go to college because it's not like they'll do any better there than they'd do without going. I don't have any options Brendon, this is me not trying to spiral into an existential crisis." She said.

"What about art, you're good at that!" He said.

"Painting and making comics doesn't pay the bills, Bren, I thought you would have figured that out by now." She said, taking a sip of her water.

"So what, you're just gonna do nothing with your life?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah, pretty much." She said.

"That's a pretty dumb decision to make." He commented.

"Thanks for noticing, dad, really appreciate it. Why don't you just go judge someone else for a while? I'm not really enthusiastic about being told how stupid my life choices are." She snapped.

And that became the first time she'd snapped at him. She set her water bottle down and stomped upstairs, slamming her door shut. He sighed, falling sideways on her couch. He hadn't meant to be so judgmental and rude, it just came out that way. He walked upstairs quietly, knocking on her door.

"Y/N, I'm sorry I'm being a big meanie, please let me in." He said.

He heard her huff angrily and walk to the door. Of course she'd let him in, no matter how angry she was. He hadn't been in her room in a few weeks, and he had wondered why until she opened her door. A bass guitar sat in the corner next to a keyboard.

"When did you get that?" He asked.

"They were gonna be your Christmas presents but now you've seen them." She said dryly.

"Oh." He looked stunned, "I'm sorry I was being mean." he said.

He hugged her, kissing her cheek. He hadn't meant to kiss her cheek, it just kind of happened. He felt instantly embarrassed for doing so. She smiled a little, hugging him back. She pulled away and smiled shyly. He touched her cheek, admiring her entire face. Her cheeks and how they blushed, her sparkling eyes, the way her lips were curved in a Mona Lisa smile. She suddenly planted a kiss on his lips. He stepped back, blushing. He fiddled with his hands nervously.

"I like you Brendon, a lot." She admitted.

"Oh." Was all he said.

He tried to build the confidence to kiss her again, but every time he tried to get himself to kiss her he couldn't. She stepped closer to him, and took one of his hands.

"Do you like me too?" She asked.

He nodded awkwardly, and she took his face in her hands. She kissed him again, and this time he kissed her back. He smiled internally, rejoicing. She liked him, him. Not anyone else, just him. She pulled away, blushing. He knew that she couldn't be his friend anymore, she would have to be more.

[purplesweatercat]

whore ; two

one is here

A little epilogue for those who crave it.

☻

She has her father's smile.

It's a strange thing. Most daughters always look like a miniature version of their mothers.

In all honesty, she did. But her father shone through her in an undeniable way. Bandit would one day be just as beautiful as her father. Her mother was only the cream in the coffee. An enhancement.

It has been three years since Gerard finally decided to repair the porcelain heart he'd shattered.

My heart.

And I've received exactly what I'm craving. The passion, the love, the respect. I can wake up to a stable Sunday breakfast. I can sleep without tears chasing it.

Every touch he lays on me is graceful, soft. It's like he's touching an innocent, fragile rose. Like the ones that flourish on our windowsill.

Every kiss is filled with the love he has for me.

"Good morning, beautiful." He whispers to me.

"Good morning." I whisper back from six inches away.

His strong, weathered hand reaches out, stroking my cheek. I smile, and his eyes sparkle.

This is the exact thing that I've wanted to wake up to. We hear footsteps, and Bandit jumps on the bed. She giggles, hugging me first.

I feel my heart surge. She accepted me almost immediately when I had come to live with them. Gerard says he loves to see us together. I don't see why, but I don't argue.

"Let's go make breakfast, guys." Gerard says, getting out of bed.

"Okay." Bandit and I say in unison.

I wonder if she will pick up anything from me. She's so young. What would she pick up? My habit of clinging to those who hurt me?

And here I am, hating myself again. I realize Gerard is staring at me. I blush, and Gerard tells Bandit to wait downstairs for us.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I'm not, not really. The period of time when he was with me only for his own pleasure sticks like glue. I remember every second of being in those skin tight tops that were only comfortable to him. I had craved my sweater.

The cold was the only thing that made things real.

The present bleeds over my reminiscing. Gerard touches my cheek.

"Darling?" He asks.

"Hm?" I reply.

"You. . . zoned out. Are you okay?" He asks, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

"Yes." I reply.

"Let's go downstairs then. We'll talk later." He says. He kisses my forehead sweetly and then pulls away from me completely.

"I love you." I say quietly. I don't say it often, I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid that I will end up like his wife.

"I love you more." He replies, smiling the smile I always see in Bandit.

☻

I swing our hands, smiling gently. It's a small smile, but still genuine.

Our love is genuine.

Gerard kisses my temple, pulling me closer. He holds both of my hands. In this moment, he's like an anchor. A loving anchor. Never intending to drown, only to keep safe and in place.

We watch Bandit play in the sand. He leans into me, smelling like soap and cologne.

There's so much peace in this moment.

"Care to tell me what you were thinking of this morning?" He asks.

I nod, knowing I can. "I'm just afraid, insecure. I. . . don't want to end up like your wife." I say, wincing at my choice of words.

It isn't what I mean, not with the way it could be read. Gerard stops me, cupping my jaw. My eyes connect with his. They're so warm, the color of his sparkling irises.

"She was awful to me and Bandit. I wasn't the only one who was unfaithful. It doesn't excuse my actions, but I had my reasons. You love me, and I truly love you." He replies, kissing just between my brows.

Bandit runs up to us, hugging my thighs. "I found you a shell!" She said excitedly. I kneel down to her level, taking it. It's beautiful. A deep, rich brown with small green stains on it. It's the same color as her father's eyes.

I smile and watch Gerard and Bandit talk happily. I love them both.

☻

I cook brownies with Bandit, smiling and listening to her talk about her school. I feel Gerard's hands touch my waist.

"Looks good, sugar." He says quietly.

I smile, leaning into him and letting him taste the batter. He smiles as I wipe batter off of the corner of his mouth.

"What would I do without you?" He asks rhetorically.

You'd be alone. And suddenly I realize why I'm here. I wasn't just an object to him. I was his therapy.

His escape.

He kisses the top of my head and helps Bandit grease the brownie pan.

They're my escape.

A beautiful one too.

They give me stability and love. I know they love me as much as I love them.

They are my family.

[purplesweatercat]

whore ; one

A warning for vulgar language, infidelity, suicide, and smut.

☹

I know it's stupid to love him. You don't have to tell me twice. I know I'm just a phone number. An excuse. An escape. It's foolish of me, really. To think that he actually would care.

He doesn't.

To him I'm just another whore.

I'm not.

He was my first, even though I didn't tell him that. I was pure before I met him. I watered the roses growing on my windowsill. Now they sit, dead. Like my heart.

There's nothing poetic about it. There's nothing poetic about crushing someone's heart into the dirt. Yet somehow he made it seem that way. He made it seem like using me was a kindness, a blessing.

It wasn't.

Every time he would show up it was the same. No passion, or love, or respect. It was me being tied down and then left with a simple goodbye.

It was always, "I can't wait to fuck that tight little cunt of yours.". No passion, no grace.

There was never anything beautiful about it. It was always him gasping and panting, pulling my hair and leaving bruises on my skin for everyone to see. And then he'd leave.

I was only a phone call. And here he is right now, standing over me with those intense hazel eyes. He cups my jaw harshly, sucking on my bottom lip. But there is no love being his actions. Only lust.

His hands roam over my skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps. His hands dip into the jeans I'm wearing, tracing the lace panties he'd bought me.

He loves giving me presents. But never something I want. Always what he wants. Lingerie and toys. Never does he consider that I crave books and fuzzy sweaters.

He rubs my clit absentmindedly, kissing me deeper. His tongue roams my mouth, he tastes like mint. A clean taste, and yet the way he's moving against my mouth is so dirty.

He throws me on the bed suddenly, making me cry out. His strong fingers pin my wrists down. He kisses my neck, biting it enthusiastically. He pulls my jeans off, leaving my legs bare and vulnerable.

He pulls the panties he gave me down, shoving a finger into me.

"So wet baby. Is this for me?" He murmurs.

It is, but I wish it wasn't. I wish I could kick you out, tell you to go back to your wife.

"Mhm." I whimper.

He curls his finger, making me toss my head back and moan loudly. The sheets I'd just washed will soon need to be washed again. What we do is unclean, unholy. I've tried to scrub away the feeling of his hands, my stomach is littered with red patches where I'd scrubbed away my skin. I hope he doesn't notice.

Would he even care? Would he even realize that he is the reason I lay awake at night, holding in my tears? His fingers wander up, pushing my shirt up. He gasps a little, pulling away. He did notice. But I doubt he cares.

"What happened?" He asks.

I shrug, which is better than actually answering. He shakes his head.

"Tell me." He says.

His voice is unusually soft, it throws me off. "I-it was an accident." I stammer.

He doesn't believe me. His dark, hazel eyes lighten. He leans closer to me, gently cradling my cheek.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

He's just trying to get an answer out of me. He doesn't actually care.

"I'm sure." I reply.

"Do they hurt?" He asks, his voice laced with concern that I'm sure is fabricated.

"No, I'm fine." I say. It's true, the pain of the red patches is overpowered by the pain I feel in my heart.

He nods, and kisses me roughly. I thought that the softness was fake. I was right.

He shrugs off his pants, never breaking our kiss. He pushes me back down, grinding against me. No mercy.

He pins my wrists above my head, tying them to the headboard. Of course. He doesn't want to take my shirt off. The only wounds he wants to see on me are the ones he's inflicted.

He kisses my neck, still grinding against me. I moan high in my throat, my hips bucking upwards. And then, suddenly, I don't want it. I don't want his hands on me. I go limp and he pulls away.

"What now?!" He snaps, like my actual feelings are an inconvenience.

"Untie me, please." I say.

He does as I ask and I rub my wrists gently. "What's wrong?" He asks, his voice filled with annoyance.

"I don't want to do this anymore." I reply.

"Why not?" He asks, crossing his arms.

I can't stop the words from pouring out of my mouth.

"Because I'm not a toy. I'm a person with feelings. I'm not someone you can just fuck around with and then throw away when you get bored. I'm not some kind of escape from your oh-so horrible wife and daughter. I'm not an escape from your the life you chose to have. If you really hate your wife so much then divorce her. If you really hate your daughter then stop being her father. I'm done with this. I'm done being hurt because you're a cruel man who can't make decisions." I say, tears coming from my eyes.

He gapes at me, probably because that's the most I've ever spoken around him. He doesn't look hurt at all.

"Since when did you start caring?" Is all he managed to say.

"Just get out, and don't come back." I snap, wiping my tears away with angry hands.

"You really want that? Once I walk out of here, I'm not coming back." He says.

"Then don't." I reply, pulling on the lace panties he adored so much.

So he leaves. He doesn't stay to try and talk, or figure out anything. He just leaves. He's so good at that. And I'm done. I'm done being an escape. I'm done with this life. I've been done for months. I just never had the courage to actually. . .

I grab the kitchen knife I always kept in my room because I can't afford a security system. I walk into the bathroom and shut the door. I lock myself in. I need to do this before anyone comes to check on me.

The knife cuts through my skin like it's made of paper. It could be, I feel so fragile, so delicate now. Blood drips on the tile floor I always kept clean. It drips on my carefully shaven legs, my painted toenails.

I sink to the floor, sobbing into my hands. I don't care that my blood is staining my paper skin or my clothes. Soon these things won't matter. I hear a knock on the door and I ignore it. I curl up into a ball on the floor and I let the darkness take over. I let everything that's ever hurt me slip away into the buzzing of the AC unit.

☹

I can hear heartbroken sobs, but I don't know who would be crying over me. I haven't spoken to my parents in years, and I know they wouldn't come to see me. I have no real friends.

I peek open one of my eyes to see Gerard of all people. He's sobbing into his hands, his shirt covered in blood, his hands too. The blood is dry, so I must have been out for a while.

I sit up quietly, making him gasp quietly. I ignore him. I look at my arm. The long slice I'd made form the crook of my elbow to my wrist is carefully stitched shut. The stitches are black and glisten in the fluorescent lights.

"Why?" Gerard asks.

Like he doesn't already know.

I don't reply.

I don't want to.

He doesn't deserve to know. He's only upset because he is like a child. A child who broke his toy. That's all I am. Nothing more than a broken toy.

"God damn it, just tell me!" He shouts, slamming his hand down on the nightstand. The bland, yellow lamp wobbles, threatening to tip over. I grab it, setting it steady.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"Because. . . because I care about you." Gerard replies.

"I don't believe you." I say.

"How can you not? I'm telling the truth!" He insists.

I turn to him. I point my finger in his face. Now I am the accuser.

"Fuck. You. I have never been more than a free fuck to you. Someone to toy with and then slide into the back burner until you feel like thinking about them again. You have never cared about me." I snap.

He gapes at me. There's a knock on the door, and it opens to reveal a woman with dark hair holding a little girl's hand. The woman looks at Gerard in disgust. She lets the little girl run to Gerard.

Gerard looks happy as he hugs her. "Hey there, princess!" He says.

"Is this my new mommy?" She asks. I shake my head, turning away. She grabs my uninjured arm. "Are you my new mommy?" She asks.

I smile gently, brushing hair out of her eyes.

"Nope, sorry pumpkin." I say gently.

"But daddy says that he loves you. He says that you're going to be my new mommy and we're all going to move in together!" She insists.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "That's not me." I say.

"Why not?" She asks, cocking her head.

"Because your daddy doesn't love me. He must be talking about someone else." I reply.

Anyone else.

"Daddy?" She asks, turning to him.

He looks uncomfortable, like all of the things she said were true. "Uh, I do love you. That's why I'm here." He says quietly.

I blush, but I don't believe him. The little girl runs back to the woman and they both leave the room.

"I don't know why you told her that. Are you really that cruel? You'll cheat on your wife then try and convince your kid it's a good thing? This really is a new low for you." I say, not even looking at him.

He grabs my face, pressing his lips to mine. He pulls away a little.

"I meant it. I know I'm a cruel bastard, but I love you. I do. I was too afraid that you would leave if I told you. I know you think I don't notice the things you do. But I do. I notice. I notice how much you love to read and how much you love cuddling. I see these things, I remember. I'm so sorry, for everything I've done. I just didn't have the balls to say that I love you. I'm asking you, please, just give me a chance." He begs,

I gape a little at how sincere he is. His hazel eyes sparkle with fresh, unshed tears. He cups my cheeks and kisses me passionately. There's no lip biting, no groans spilling from his mouth. He's soft, gentle. His thumbs stroke my cheeks gently.

He rests his forehead against mine. "Okay." I whisper.

I hope that my fragile heart doesn't regret this.