Dichotomy.

He takes a step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

He stares at me, and it’s more than obvious what he’s thinking about.

If I were a horrible person, I could take total advantage of this right now. Of him.

His eyes linger hesitantly at my lips.

I raise an eyebrow, thinking maybe-

His lips are on mine before I can even comprehend what’s happening.

And apparently my will power is worse than I thought because I don’t push him away like I should.

Soft lips pushed up against mine, and I lose all sense of thought and feeling except for an oddly pleasant sensation starting at my fingertips and crawling over my skin like spiders.

I let his tongue slip past my lips and I try not to despise myself too much as I reciprocate.

“Okay, what the hell?” I ask, still shocked and half-breathless when he pulls away.

I’m so surprised that I forget to be pissed.

“I want you,” he states simply. It’s a bland statement; a waste of breath on his part.

I already know this; I don’t know why he’s telling me.

“And you hate me,” I add. He shrugs helplessly.

“Well…yeah.”

“I hate you too,” I reply, but my hand comes up to rest on his chest anyway.

“I know,” he answers, leaning in closer again, his body pressing fully against mine.

Rewind to when I had even an ounce of common sense, if I ever did.

This is not how it was with Eric, I reason to myself.

I started sleeping with Eric because I thought I loved him.

I thought we could go somewhere.

This is different.

I hate Brendon, so this is different.

I can be in control of myself this time, I know it.

-The truth is, if you tell yourself a lie enough times, you can start to believe it.

The truth is, I just want to be able to feel something with anyone.

It’s pathetic, really.

I can’t feel passion in what I think is love, so now I’m reduced to finding something in hatred.

Anything so I can feel something.

I don’t know what part of my mind refuses to see common sense, but we’re in my darkened bedroom, and his shirt’s disappeared, along with my pants, and he’s backing me towards the bed.

I freeze.

“You okay?” he stops to look at me. As if he cares.

His hand brushes hair away from my neck before he leans down to kiss me there. I shiver, and I know he feels it, because his hands just slip farther down my hips, causing goose bumps to flare.

“I’m fine,” I mutter quickly, just hoping he’ll just shut up for once.

I don’t want to talk.

I’m sick of talking.

His hands slide up under my shirt, and I shiver again.

I don’t like him having this kind of control.

If we’re doing this, it’s going to be my way.

I push him back onto the bed.

-x-x-x-x-x-

I lie next to him, trying not to think too much, because I have no words.

Apparently he doesn’t either, for once.

He hasn’t said one smart-ass remark this entire night, so I figure I can be polite and not make him leave.

I run my fingers over the tattooed piano keys on his forearm.

“I wasn’t really that drunk at the after-party,” I admit, since I’m already drenched in self-loathing in addition to sweat.

“Me either,” he replies. I pause for a bit before speaking again.

“I hate you,” I say, even though I’m still winded and naked and lying on his bare chest.

I feel his fingers playing with the loose ends of my hair.

“I know,” he says. “You already told me.”

The truth is, I’m a horrible person.