* love the way you lie [myth]

[Zephyя !?]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,340,true][atrb=background,http://i888.photobucket.com/albums/ac90/Zephkins/Tables/Lucifer.png] [scrolly:h(205),w(260),sy] i can't tell you what it really is i can only tell you what it feels like ( 762 ) ( love the way you lie ) Days, it seemed, had passed since he had really talked to Mythril, and part of him was missing her. Subconsciously, they were mere blocks from each other, constantly moving with each other and not even realizing it. Our brute could smell her past the scents he looked for in his day time, but he didn't notice it, passing it off. Running into her again, in his mind, was seemingly unlikely. He didn't bother looking, didn't bother noticing that scent on the tip of his nose. Instead, he just continued on his nomad life, working from the next meal to the next. Till came one day, when he trailed over a garbage can that had her smell all over it, that perfume lifting and interrupting his thoughts. He paused, drifting over it and feeling his chest tighten at the reminder of those two days, where he had chased her, then suddenly it was flipped around and he was drawn to her by affection instead of pure hatred. With out her, he felt more like a lost pup then the fierce ball of muscle and testosterone. He didn't walk with the same confidence and pride, or look with that intense, vicious glance. He only kept walking, trailing thoughts of her perfections. One could say he felt empty of feeling, just running on auto-pilot, not really here nor there. The writer realizes now that this comes across as love sick, hooked on a single beauty, and looking over the past writings, yes in a way, he is. But it's not just this... this affection, it's more. It's the curiousity she gave him, the mystery that lurked in those brilliant eyes. That passing expression, like nothing phased her. Somewhere in that gaze, she seemed distant and uncaring, like he was now, just going through the movements. There was a secret in her words, in her eyes, one could find the sadness and betrayal that stained her pages. It overwhelmed our brute, it made him feel angry at whatever happened to her. It made him feel responsible. Their first impressions weren't great. He added another reason to be troubled to her long list. She was delicious and tempting. He made chase because of the anger and insanity that laced his blunt fangs and tainted his mind. He was driven by the obscenities of his past, the madness that assisted it, and it caused him to push foreword after that damsel, ripping and snarling like a demon straight from hell. It was only when he had those moments under the water, where everything was drifting, everything was somehow peaceful, no worries, almost like he was ready for that watery death to reach into his throat and take the life right out of him, that he realized there was more to what he was feeling. She reached in and took him from his death bed, resuscitated him and showed him what forgiveness and care was. They saved each other and shared warmth and food. He wasn't willing to give it up, but by the end of the day they had parted and left a memory in their tracks. Now, breathing in her scent and feeling the earth tilting violently, somewhere he knew there wasn't just their meeting. There was a connection, perhaps. He remembered stories of true love, like soul mates. He believed, for a second in the span of a day, that there was the possibility he had found his, but chasing her down and confessing his thoughts wasn't sane, nor was it easy. He couldn't even consider it. First, to chase her down. He had done that once, he was certain she wouldn't appreciate a second round, then to tell her all the thoughts that he was drowning in since their departure. She would think he was crazy, even crazier then when he attacked her. He couldn't bare having her think he was even more insane. He stepped away from the trash can, our Lucifer's gaze turning to stone, his muscles shifting with the thoughts that ran through his head. It was easier, before he met her, to move along. It was easier to be cold and daring, to hold his head high and indulge in the fact that he was bad ass, that he had slaughtered and beaten many strong beasts. Now he just felt cold and tiny. "Damn it, Myth." He whispered under his breath, stepping behind the bin and slumping to the ground, wrapping himself in that perfume. and right before i'm about to drown, she resuscitates me she fucking hates me and i love it. wait! where you going? "i'm leaving you" no you ain't. come back we're running right back. here we go again [/scrolly]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,140,true]