She paced back and forth,
The three inch block heels of her scuffed black boots
Clacking against the unfinished hardwood floor.

Some would say that she looked distraught.
Others would call it confidence, or "walking with a purpose."

But they never looked at her eyes.

Almond shaped and wide, fluttering and glossing across every detail of the room repeatedly,
Until she had it memorized.
Her usually, sunset-esque, yellowy-oak colored eyes scanned the room. She looked out from beneath thick, long black eyelashes. Her iris's glistened black.

No amber streaks.
No red accents.
No infatuated gold.
No comforting, warm, oak brown.

Her eyes were black.
Dark.
Cold.
Hungry.

Like a predator.

Her shoulders tensed and she began to slow her pacing,
Her steps slowly becoming lighter and lighter,
Until they could not be heard
Aside from the soft beat of vibrational frequency through the floorboards.

She finished scanning the room,
Shifting her eyes from every exit or entrance or place to hide and cower,
Taking note of it all.

Her eyes focused, her pacing coming to a sudden and abrupt stop.
Her body became rigid.
Every elegant curve and smooth, soft
Length of utterly feminine and maternal skin she had
Suddenly became very, very sharp.
Rough.
Dangerous.

Her stance was similar to that of a defensive wildcat.
Tail low.
Hackles raised.
Claws unsheathed.
Lips curling ever so subtly
That at any moment her canines could press and sink into her prey's
Soft flesh,
And draw blood.

Her eyes locked on her prey.

All talking in the slightly crowded, dimly lit, room came to a sudden halt.
A cold chill blew through the room.
The hair along the necks of each and every guest stood on end.
Even as humans,
Who are so very proud of not relying on instinct,
Understood what this meant.

Danger.

She was still, rigid.
You could not see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

There was no noise,
Aside from the faint bassline from the speakers.

Judging by the voice spitting out lyrics,
She guessed the song was either by The Offspring, or maybe Say Anything.

One guest flipped off the speakers.

The buzz of static.
Then the buzz of a moth flying repeatedly into one of the faded lightbulbs.
Then, silence.

They stared at her,
But she did not see them.
Her eyes remained focused,
Trained on her slowly-growing-more-nervous-each-passing-second prey.

There was a low, guttural growl rumbling from her throat.

Her prey looked up.

Their eyes locked.

Before the other girl could make out a single syllable,
She pulled her lips back into a snarl.

"How dare you?"

The prey only blinked in response.

"Who do you think you are?"

The prey furrowed her eyebrows, trying to play dumb.

"Have you ever cared about anyone but yourself?!" She coiled her muscles like a spring. Her body pulled tight together.

"What?"

"He meant nothing to you." She pounced into the crowd, slamming into her prey. A flurry of black and white.

"And you mean nothing to me."

She sunk her long, pointed teeth and sharp molars into the flesh of her prey's throat.

Vile blood filled her mouth.
Pushing past the urge to gag,
She bit down harder.

Then,
She heard a cracking noise.
And then, a snap.

She stood,
Dropping her prey's limp body onto the floor
As she unclenched her jaw and opened her mouth.

The girl dropped, lifeless, to the floor.

The predator opened her mouth,
Feeling the toxic, bitter blood dribble out her mouth and drip from her lips and chin.

The crowd of people were panicked.

They looked like they were screaming.

She could not hear them.

She looked ahead and stared into the mirrors along the wall.

Her hair was black and matted and wild. A mane of knotted kitten fur and hummingbird feathers.
Her eyes were black, dark as midnight. No light reflected in, no emotion shined out. The whites of her eyes were just barely visible.

Her skin was pale, so white it was an almost sickly yellow-grey. She could see the veins beneath her cold, unfeeling complexion.
Her lips were red. With blood. Hers and that of her prey.
Her fingers were longer, mangled into claws.
She stood hunched, ready to attack at any moment.

Her face was twisted and contorted into a snarling look of pain.

She hated when she got like this.
When she lost all her humanity,
In order to serve her righteous cause,
Whatever it maybe at the time.

But there were certain sacrifices you need to make for the people you love.

And if it meant protecting them,
If it meant their happiness,
If it meant their comfort,
She would give it all.

Her whole heart.

Her whole soul.

It seems every day,
In some way,
I become more like my father.

I remember telling you I was never gonna be like him.
I remember you telling me that you'd never be like yours.
And I remember thinking
"But your father isn't so bad at all."

I remember that, at the time, I felt ridiculously guilty for thinking that.

I don't feel so bad anymore.

I am becoming more like my father,
Because it feels like I'm constantly breaking promises
To people who were stupid enough to think
That I would keep them.
Because I am constantly breaking promises
To people who were stupid enough to think
I'd always love them.

The reason I am not like my father,
Is because I was stupid too.
It's because I was also stupid enough
To think that I could keep those promises.
I was stupid enough
To think I'd be able to love those people forever.

But, the problem is,
I am horrible at forgiving,
And I'm even worse at forgetting.

I remember one of the promises I made to you.
It was that I would always think fondly of you, no matter what.
Even if we stayed friends.
Even if we drifted apart.
Even if we never ever spoke again.

Today, I remembered how very much I hate you.

And today I also thought, verbatim,
"At least I don't look like an unfortunately pear-shaped crypt keeper like her."

I like to pretend that I didn't start hating you until a little towards the end of last year,
When I started dating the boy I've loved for more than a decade.

I like to try to convince myself of that.
I like to pretend that if that's how it happened, then I can act like I was a good friend, a good person, for a little longer than I was.

But the truth is,
I remember the day I started to hate you.

I remember when one of our mutual friends asked
If I still had a crush on "that guy from fifth grade".
I tried to tell her I didn't,
But that was a lie
And everyone involved in that conversation
Could tell
From how red I was turning.

I remember how deeply she frowned.
I remember her telling me
That you liked him too.

I remember how angry I was.
I remember almost throwing up.
I remember trying to convince myself
That it wasn't true.

I remember asking you.
I was laughing.
I was trying to act like I didn't believe it.

I remember you telling me it was true.
I also remember you telling me that you weren't going to act on it
Because of your "daddy issues" and your "trust issues"
And that even though you liked him a whole lot,
And lots of people had told you that he liked you too,
That you didn't really trust him.
"Besides," I remember how sweetly you smiled when you said this,
"It won't last long. And I kinda like watching him squirm."

You were trying to joke around,
You thought it would make me laugh,
Becquse at that point
I was kind of known for my dark sense of humor
And violent tendencies.

I remember how angry I was at you.
I remember wanting to scream at you.
I remember how hot my tears were.
I remember exactly what I wanted to say.

I wanted to tell you that there was no way you could possibly ever love him the way I did.
I remember wanting to tell you that I didn't care how close you two were, how well you knew him.
That I didn't care if he loved you or whatever.
I wanted to tell you that you could never ever possibly even imagine to care as much as I did.

You were too dishonest.
You were too fake.
You were too normal,
And I wanted to say that there was no way a ******* normal person
Could even fathom possessing
More love than I did.

But all I said to you,
After being too quiet for too long, was
"I have to go."

I remember rushing into the bathroom.
I remember throwing up.
I remembering sobbing on the bathroom floor for thirty minutes,
And when I went back to my class,
My teacher set me to the guidance counselor.
I sat in there for an hour and a half.
I refused to talk the entire time.
She ended up calling my dad,
And telling him that I needed some type of professional therapy
And that I should probably see a psychiatrist too.

What I remember that I didn't tell you,
Or anyone else, for that matter,
Was that I was sure that I would lose this.

Because you were, at this time, prettier than me.
And I was so sure he would fall head over heels for you.
And I remember thinking "How could he not?"
Because you were smart
And confident
And funny
And friendly
And charming
And nice,
And wore normal clothes
Like a normal person
And liked normal things
And had a normal family
And a normal house
And a normal life.

And isn't that all anyone would want?
Someone normal?

Because I sure as hell wasn't normal.
I was morbid
And spazzy
And I only ever wore black
Or dark red
Or dark purple.
And I carried around stuffed animals and dolls
And hid them in my locker or backpack
So people wouldn't think I was a complete basketcase.
And my mother was dying,
And my father was an alcoholic,
And my older brother was violent and angry
And I was the one raising my little brothers
And I always had bruises and cuts and scars
And I would only pretend to eat.
I didn't always have a house to live in
Or a bed to sleep in.
I even slept in the park
Across from the movie theatre
A few times.

And I was so sure,
That if you didn't already,
That you would absolutely love him.
I mean, how could you not?
He's sweet
And handsome
And kind
And smart
And polite
And (usually) gentle
And funny
And compassionate.

Before I had met him,
I didn't realize how drastically a person's eyes change in shade
When they care about someone
And that someone is hurt.

I didn't realize
How powerful a person's voice could be.
How a smile laced between words could make you feel like flying,
Or how being able to actually hear someone out up their walls
From how they're talking to you,
Can make you feel like you're dying.

I quickly learned what it felt like to love someone,
And to lose them,
Without even ever really having them.

Sometimes, I miss you.
Or, I miss who I thought you were.
Who you pretended to be.

I look at him,
And my heart bursts with color.

I think about you using him,
And I am drowning in inky, black rage.

I think about how he loved you,
And it kills me.
If the bravado you put on
Had really been who you were,
There would have been no way
That he would love me.

But that wasn't who you were.

You and I are very similar.
I mean, there has to be a reason he loved you then,
And me now.

Neither of us know how to successfully create bonds between ourselves and other people.
We don't know how to become a part of someone else.

The difference is,
You pretend to.
You create bonds,
So you can use people
To meet the ends
You so desire.

While I,
I tell them how badly it could go.
How I might not ever be able to entirely accept or believe that they love me.

The difference is,
You don't know how to create bonds.
So you make them for the sole purpose of using people
As though they are objects.
As though they are a means to an end.

And while I do not know how to make bonds,
I want to.
I desperately want to.
I don't want to love the people I love from a distance.
I want to love them up-close,
In real-time.

I want to help them.
I want to nurture them.
I want to make them smile.

The difference is,
I admit I'm a monster.
But at least I have a heart.

While you,
You are a monster that is pretending to be a person.

You don't think I see it.
And, honestly,
I didn't recognize it at first.

I've never been on the receiving end of that look.

But, as they hook me up
With wires and sensors
For an EKG,
I can see it.

The way you look at me.

That fire in your eyes,
Always so resilient,
So passionate.
Like you could do anything
As long as you really wanted it.

But it looked like that fire,
Just now,
Was eating you alive.
The flames licking at the fragments
Of your heart.

It looked like pain.
Like loss.
Like the world is falling down all around you,
And there is nothing you can do to stop it.

I recognize that look, now.
I've seen it in my own reflection,
Staring back at me,
Venomous tears threatening to burn through my skin
If I were to let them fall.
A sandy lump in my throat,
When I finally understood.

You can love someone with every part of you,
With your whole heart.
You can love someone
Through lifetimes.
Through centuries.
You can love someone to the very end of the universe,
And back again.

But you cannot love someone's broken pieces back together.

But,
Sometimes,
When all I feel is searing pain,
I think of the pain in your eyes,
The very depth of it,
The intensity,
When you even entertain the thought of losing me.

And it suddenly occurs to me,
That you love me.
And as long as you love me,
As long as you're mine,
I'm not done here. No, not yet.

So I stand up.
I brush myself off,
And look directly into the void,
And wait for it to blink first.

I growl through gritted teeth,
****** from a split lip,
While clutching the lace hem
Of my pink sundress.
*"I am not done here. No, not yet."

They call me.

Waving to me from the up-turned leaves
On the trees lining the street
Before a storm settles in.

They call me.

Humming softly after sunset,
Ushering in the blue of dusk.

They call me.

Whispering along the howling wind
That rustles the grass and bangs the shutters.

They call me.

Coming down on me like a firing squad
The rain pummeling into my back
As I desperately try to remember.
As I desperately try to forget.

They call me.

You were the one who warned us.
You were the one who taught us.
We were shown everything.
Told everything.
How to protect ourselves.
How to fight back.
What your weaknesses were,
Because you thought they were ours too.

You were wrong.

They call me.

You didn't realize who we were.
You didn't know what we were,
Or why.

We never meant any harm.
We didn't choose this.
We never got a choice.

To us, choice is nothing but a fairytale
That we've become too old to believe in.

They call me.

The songs of the Old Religion
Rumble towards me
Within the fog.

**"We are the granddaughters  of the witches you weren't able to burn."

You have ice in your veins.

You are the same
As the world is
When I wake up at 2:35 AM on a week night
And there's clumps of snow dropping from the pink-violet night sky,
And then sticking to the cold, unfeeling ground.

You are the same
Because you make me feel the same way.

Watching a blizzard's slow and gentle beginning at odd hours in the morning,
Is one of my favorite feelings.
I feel calm.
I feel content.
I feel, finally, at peace.

I'm not sure
If I've ever known peace
Anywhere
Aside from watching snow fall to the earth at 2:35 AM
And aside from the rare moments your laugh touches my heart,
Or your smile greets my soul,
And washes her clean.

You have ice in your veins.

You are all too familiar with the tranquil melancholy
That comes along with
Snowy winters.

You are familiar
With the peaceful, but lonesome, silence.

You are comfortable in it,
For it is your home.
For your walls
Are built from ice,
And no summer has ever been hot enough to melt them,
At least not for long.

You are the snowy winter.

But I am the pink summer.

I am the peak
Of colorful and pesky
Wildflowers.
I am the sunset
At nine o'clock at night.
I am the breath of sweet, fresh air
That stirs all your hormones together,
Making you feel warm and happy and excited and giddy and alive
But most of all
Free.

I am the smell of gasoline
And charcoal.
I am sunshine storms
And the warm rain they bring.
I am bonfires
And bugspray
And camping trips
And awkward-but-memorable-outdoor-***
In a teeny little tent,
That almost always ends in giggle fits,
And feeling so entirely, and finally, whole.

I am heat exhaustion
And hurricanes
And itty-bitty green inchworms venturing away from their
Leafy trees
For the very first time.

I am passion.
I am feeling something with your whole heart.
I am bravery.
Meaning, I am being absolutely terrified, but doing the thing anyway.
I am feeling so much of one emotion at a time that it is the only thing you can feel.
I am the butterflies in your stomach,
If they were ever there at all.

I am warm
And free
And wild
And loving
And always, always there.
In some way,
Even if just a memory.

I am always fleeting.

I am summer.

You are winter.

You are hot apple cider,
And cocoa with too-big-marshmallows,
And flannel pajamas
And surprises
And christmas tree ornaments that I love for no other reason other than that I love them and I always have and always will.

You are cold winds
And painful, but important, memories.

You are the feeling of stability.
You are finally having some type of normalcy,
Away from the chaos.

We are polar opposites.
So much so,
That it makes us the same.

I know why summer is your favorite season.

But did I ever tell you how much I love winter?

Storm clouds.
Grey.
Black.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5--
Rumbling thunder.
It chills your bones.
Shouting.
Yelling.
A man's voice.
A child's soft, muffled cry.
Cold skin.
Chills
Spidering up and down my spine
Over and over and over.
A woman sobbing softly.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3--
Rumbling thunder.
Cold wind.
Rain.
It falls in sheets.
Feels like little blades of ice
Piercing my skin.
Screaming.
Slamming doors.
Cars driving away.
Gravel.
A child wailing.
It fades into a soft, distant whimper.
There aren't enough tissues for all their tears.
The wind picks up.
It howls.
Trees bend to its' will.
Some threaten to fall.
The rain comes down harder,
Faster.
Like sheets of bullets.
They're so cold,
I almost don't feel them.
I almost feel nothing.
And nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing

And then: You.

And then there was you.

Sunlight,
Straining through Autumn clouds.
Yellow and red and orange leaves.
Birds building nests,
Chirping back and forth.
Squirrels foraging for food for the coming Winter,
Scurrying up and down trees.
Warm spiced apple cider.
Silence,
Except for the soft, colder breeze.
Except for the purring of a cat,
The slight kneading of their drowsy paws.
Except for the soft snoring of a dog,
His occasional half-asleep woof.
Except for pages turning,
A pen gliding its' ink across thick parchment.
Typewriter keys clacking.
Silence.
Except for your footsteps coming through the front door
And down the hall.

Nothing.

And then there was you.

There never was anyone else.

You're that type of person
Who I try to be grumpy
And angry around.
But you make me so happy,
It's so hard to stay that way.
I'm not used to smiling and laughing
All the time,
The way I do with you.

But I am just so in love with you.

I sabotage things.
Never on purpose.
But I'm not really a "permanent"
Kind of person.
"Sticking around" isn't really my thing.

But, with you, I want a family.
I've never had a real family before.
I've never really been part of one.

But I want it,
Because I am just so in love with you.

And you
Are the kind of person
Who makes my heart flutter against the bones
That make up my ribcage,
And I could only imagine
That the beauty of the sound it makes
Is only half as beautiful
As your voice.

And I am just so in love with you.

And you
Are the kind of person
Who leaves a trail of stardust
Everytime you walk away from my arms,
So that I may always find you again,
So that I may always come back home.

And your heart
Is stitched from the purest golden thread and platinum ore.
And your soul
Is weaved out of the feathers
Of songbirds and the smell of burning gasoline or charcoal.
Your voice smells like pumpkin bread and tastes like strawberry red tea with just a little too much sugar.
Your hand in mine feels like a fire that will never go out.
Your arms around me feel like a warm meal that I'm allowed to eat, not just prepare.
Your voice in my ear sounds like I am finally, without a doubt, free from the shackles that made me who I am, scars and all.

I have never been free before.

Your lips, as you kiss me, taste like home. They taste like safety.

I am just so in love with you.