Your Own Game
You are the most beautiful girl she has ever seen, and you know it.
You know just how to flick your hair, bat your eyelashes, whilst she stands there, shocked.
You don't ask what she's doing there; you already know. It's sad, you think. She's so young, already so disillusioned. She thinks you don't know? Thinks it was a tightly kept secret? Your sister couldn't keep it secret for a minute, the weakling. She wasn't strong enough.
Neither is this girl. She thinks she's in control, thinks she's to be the seductress...
Something flickers in the girl's eyes... fear? Pain? Regret? Not so in control. You hear her make her excuses, smoothly, well rehearsed, but it's obvious she has no idea what she's saying. And it's not so smooth, if you listen closely, and it makes no sense.
Just words, you think, smugly, but what well said words! You nod, gently, to the girl, and look down. Then you cock your head, smiling, ask her name.
She opens her mouth ... she has very red lips ... and closes it. She looks at you, shakes her head just barely.
If you were less cool, you would frown. But you know your part, and what is a moment's resistance? She'll be yours soon enough.
You take a step forward, so that her lips are just below yours, and you can feel her breathe. She still stares at you as you lean over and kiss her, calculated, on the lips. She sighs gently when you take hers away, and looks up to meet your eyes.
You feel the tiniest squirm of uneasiness in your belly.
Your name, you ask, your name. But she doesn't not speak, but she pulls you down, kisses you, and theree is the tiniest flutter beneath your heart.
Then instantly, you are outraged. How dare she? How dare she suppose that she is in control? This is your game. She doesn't even understand the rules.
But she's beating you, you think, and try and ignore the thought. You kiss her, again and again, the pain beneath your heart pulling you closer.
You barely know what's going on, thinking of the pain, the pulling. You barely know, but your body is more sure, and it is you on top.
The girl's eyes flutter open, pale and scared, but so... so...
So hopeful. And you back away when it strikes you that she is in love with you.
Her mouth drops open, at your backing away, ands she cocks her head at you, so pitifully, but it make syou sick. Your eyes are wide, and so are hers, and she won't stop looking at you.
You don't say anything, and now it is she who takes a step forward, her gaze fixed on yours. You want to run. You're losing it. She's beating you, she's beating you, she's kissing you.
She pulls you close and her eyes are squeezed shut, like she can't bear to look at you. You look at her though, the tilt of her head, the shade of her hair and she's kissing you, she's kissing you and it hurts.
They never mention, you think, how much it hurts.
Her tongue is wet and her arms are around your waist, pulling you close. You can feel her heartbeat; every time she takes a breath, you know. And she's so close. She smells of almonds.
You break away when the dinner bell rings, and stare at her, lips still parted. She opens her mouth to say something, then breaks into a smile. You stare a while longer, and wish she would kiss you again.
Her smile droops, and she suddenly looks scared. You hate hot scared she looks. You hate how scared you are, and how horrified. You hate the way you can taste her sweet on your lips, and the way she looks like she hates what jus thappened. How you hate what just happened. You hate yourself, that you were bested. And at your own game.
She drops her gaze, and pushes past you, through the door, away. And you suddenly see how spiteful you must've seemed, and there's another thing to hate.
Congratulations, you think. She's just won. And she's not even glad that she won. You don't know what it is that she won... maybe she doesn't even know she won it. But you know, as surely as you know you hate it.
You hate her, but you wish she were still here, and you still kissing her.
When you pass her in the hall later, she looks scared. You bite your lip as you walk, and don't dare look at her, as you pass. If you look at her, you know you will have to kiss her.
You hate that.
When you're farther down the hall, and look back, she doesn't see. Her head hands down, but you can see on her face that she's smiling. Nervously, but it's a smile, and you'd almost say it's a smile of relief.
Your stomach twists, and you snap your head sharply back to the front, and start walking.
You hate her. She did all that to you, dared to do that to you, dared to seduce you.
And now she is glad you don't to anything about it.
You hate her, it's that simple.
But even more, you hate yourself.