Killers

She was worse than a cheater and she was worse than a thief. Something much worse. She was a killer. She had killed something, and she had killed it when its back was turned. There was a time when she had something to live for and something to fight for and something to work at, and that made her a better killer but as it always is, she massacred the very thing that sparked her fire.
It was not a loud massacre and no blood was shed but it was more brutal than someone getting what they longed for, and that is hard to achieve. She now knew why she was a guarded soul. She now knew why she never told the whole truth. She now understood why. That was always her burning question. Why physics would always win. Why she could not throw a jagged stone into the ocean and expect still water. Why the asphalt beneath her would always have grooves and missing pieces- because having the courage to do the right thing was always harder than turning something so good into a killer of its own.

Whispers of an end

They were in his room, the bare walls and dark sheets oddly overwhelmed the sort of emptiness they were surrounded by. It was more than midway through the year and they had been at this sort of thing for awhile but the occasion of being together was rare and cherished. There wasn't much to look at but she had a knack for scanning rooms despite their seeming blankness. She never thought things could be empty, foolish perhaps, but she stuck to it. Every now and then when he was in the bathroom or kitchen she'd steal a long look across the bookshelves or night stand or how his shoes were placed on his floor- she would lie to herself and say the first thing she looked at with people was their eyes but she always looked at their hands and feet. There was this unspoken knowledge between her and her father that taught her that a pair of shoes could tell more stories than anything else, and stories made up the basis for who people are and who they had been. So that's where she started.

He had no clocks and usually she could tell the time of day within minutes of uncertainty, but today she was off. Without looking through the blinds she could only tell that the sun was nowhere to be found and the clouds were being territorial as if the royal sky was their battlefield. The room was not lit, as both preferred, but the change in light could be seen by those page-like shadows sweeping across the walls. The thing about rooms was that there was always a sense of wanting to be welcomed, as if a room could grant such a thing, but there was always that elephant of strangeness and uncomfortableness that served to be greater. 

She liked him, well-liked him at that. Something about how he looked almost fluid and never changing pace whilst walking or the way his cheekbones would rise especially high during something amusing. Maybe it was those resplendent blue eyes that would change shade depending on his mood or the way he would offer a low hum only doing certain things. Foiling her parents, she had always been a listener and a researcher- that's how she learned people. Quiet discoveries were victories and a sick part of her got off from asking specific questions she already knew the answers to. There were certain parts of him that were more than predictable and then other parts of him that one could never guess. It was a multitude of things, and that was the only thing she was sure of.
He was lying beside her now, the comforter strewn across the bed and tangled between their legs- another preference. As for him, he liked this strange girl next to him. In fact, he liked her more than she liked him which was something neither of them knew. He liked the way her hair curled after showers and how she could only fall asleep if she was curled up in a ball on her right shoulder. He loved the way she tapped her fingers on the side of her leg when her mind was doing backflips or the rare times he would catch her dancing to silence. Though he liked the most particular things about her his favourite was the sillage of her perfume tracing her path as she walked away- it was as if she was leaving parts of herself for him to keep, the residue of her presence. There was something to this girl, and that was the only thing he was sure of.
She was giving him one of those vanquishing small smiles that could only ever fit her face. Before he met her back through their coil of sheets he had put on a song that they both knew quite well, there was something to this frenzy between them. So they lie together in the most serene of silences despite the music playing, tangled and warm and as one. If there was not something else occupying her mind she would count, this was one of those times. Out of the corner of her left eye she would watch his stomach slowly rise and fall, it reminded her of the way he walked. She got to the fall of his stomach on the seventy-second breath and he broke the somewhat silence:

'I think I know'- short and fast and low as usual

'You know a lot. What do you think you know?'- her, engaged

He let out a slight huff of a chuckle signifying that he knew that she already knew what he was going to say
'How you think it ends'- him in a congruent tone to his previous break

'Tell me, then'- the girl

'You first'- him, knowing she loved but did not like it when he twisted the game

'That's against the rules'- her, now propped up on an elbow eager per usual when he offered a piece of his mind to her

'Apart from the fact that you're right, I wish you weren't in a way.'- him, averting from disclosure

'Say it'- in the way she sometimes got demanding

He laughed and propped himself up as a mirror to her. He ran the fingers on his left hand through her hair and made his way past her ear and at the nape of her neck with his lips. Now holding a fistful of locks to his face he knew why there was something to this. Though he never kept her gaze for long, he took her chin so that her eyes pierced him back and through..



'It doesn't'