“Do you love me?”

“No.”

His fingers jerk her hurt face to his own as he bruised her lips once more with his stone kisses. He lets her go as she wobbles to the floor. He looks down, always looking down, upon her. She had a body he desires, a smile he lusts, an attitude to die for and he has nothing but unkind words and malicious tones.

“So you hate me?”

“Yes.”

He hates her because he loves her. Her cries of pain beguile his ears; cause him to smile as he removes his foot from her shoulder. He loves her so much he hurts her.

“Do you love me?” He questions, lifting her chin up with his exposed foot so that she may view his eyes. “Can you…” His teeth bear through. “Love me?”

She smiles sweetly at him, it frightens him. His foot drops down and he takes a step back.

“I do.” She answers moving a hand to her bruised shoulder. “I can.”

His mind screamed. He is afraid of her because he loves her. Still he saunters forward, goes down on a knee and lifts her chin with his heavy hands.

“Foolish, foolish.” He snaps in more fear than anger. He lets go to slap her. “How can you be so foolish?”

He hurts her because she hurts him with her smile.

Her face raises question. Like a scolded puppy she whimpers a moment her eyes glistening with a layer of desire in his anger. To be hurt, to be hated, to be forsaken; she wants so many things he wishes he could not bring her. He wants better because he loves her, but he cannot do that.

He hates her and himself for things such as that. He hates that he contaminates his love every second he breathes, and he hates that she encourages it. He loves that she holds his hatred, he is excited by it.

“I’ll love you more if you hit me again.” She begs on her knees. “I love it when you do.”

He wishes she wouldn’t ask for things like that. He wishes he wasn’t so enthused about it. He wishes her bruises weren’t so beautiful.

“Tell me you hate me again.” He let his eye twitch. He was concerned, lost, excited, joyous, remorseful, and confused. He laughs nervously.

“Maybe I will.”

“You promised me pain.”

“Did I?” She gave him a pleading look. Her eyes so full of need, want, desire. He wants them for his own; he wants them to only see him.

She holds him by the waist, her arms circling it, face deep into his stomach.

“Please, please Jeremie?”

His hand gained impulse as he drug her away from him by a clutch of hair. His mouth drawn faintly in a scowl, darkly unhappily.

“Yumi, don’t be a whore for pain.”

He judges her because he loves her.