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Some say you're trouble, boy
Just because you like to destroy
All the things that bring the idiots joy
Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
When he tells her where they're going, she never asks him why. She never asks for details on what he'll be doing when he isn't with her. It's just more words to stack in the growing file of all the things that go unsaid between them. She used to think she might not like the answer. She might not want to know.
Lately she's decided she simply doesn't care.
She should care. It should bother her. Even without the details, she knows what he does. His job--when it comes right down to it--is to destroy little pieces of the world, even as she goes out at night to keep the otherworldly at bay. To save the world, a little piece at a time.
He takes lives where she fights to save lives. She shouldn't see him any differently than the vampires she slays. That it's a job to him should make it worse; that he chooses it, that he enjoys it, worse still.
Sometimes she watches him from across the room, during those occasional moments when his attention is on something other than her. When he's typing on his laptop, lower lip tucked between his teeth as he pours over yet another thing she never asks about because she isn't sure she wants to take the chance that it's something business related and not an interesting news article. She studies him and wonders why he wants her here, how they can stand on opposite sides of society's black and white line and still think that they can stand together, and how much longer 'til it all falls apart. She doesn't even fully understand her own reasons, and sometimes she'd kill to know what he's thinking.
He leaves for a while, and she doesn't ask questions when he comes back. They run through her mind, but get no further than an intake of breath to give them voice before she thinks better of asking. Not because she might not like the answer. Not because she might not want to know.
She just doesn't care.
For now, maybe some things are better left unsaid.
word count: 350
Just because you like to destroy
All the things that bring the idiots joy
Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
When he tells her where they're going, she never asks him why. She never asks for details on what he'll be doing when he isn't with her. It's just more words to stack in the growing file of all the things that go unsaid between them. She used to think she might not like the answer. She might not want to know.
Lately she's decided she simply doesn't care.
She should care. It should bother her. Even without the details, she knows what he does. His job--when it comes right down to it--is to destroy little pieces of the world, even as she goes out at night to keep the otherworldly at bay. To save the world, a little piece at a time.
He takes lives where she fights to save lives. She shouldn't see him any differently than the vampires she slays. That it's a job to him should make it worse; that he chooses it, that he enjoys it, worse still.
Sometimes she watches him from across the room, during those occasional moments when his attention is on something other than her. When he's typing on his laptop, lower lip tucked between his teeth as he pours over yet another thing she never asks about because she isn't sure she wants to take the chance that it's something business related and not an interesting news article. She studies him and wonders why he wants her here, how they can stand on opposite sides of society's black and white line and still think that they can stand together, and how much longer 'til it all falls apart. She doesn't even fully understand her own reasons, and sometimes she'd kill to know what he's thinking.
He leaves for a while, and she doesn't ask questions when he comes back. They run through her mind, but get no further than an intake of breath to give them voice before she thinks better of asking. Not because she might not like the answer. Not because she might not want to know.
She just doesn't care.
For now, maybe some things are better left unsaid.
word count: 350
