Archive ~ Writing ~ Links ~ Extras ~  Site ~ Home

I Hate Him, I Love Her
by Avarice


I began to fight the losing battle the minute we turned up in this godforsaken town. All soul-having or not, he was still who he was, and she was most definitely who she was. It didnıt matter that he regretted, that he repented, he remembered. And that was enough for her.

I hate him. I love her.

For some reason, it doesnıt seem strange to have these two emotions, at opposite ends of the spectrum. Especially since logically, I shouldnıt be having them at all, being a demon and whatall. Never been a big fan of logic myself.

So far away from each other, yet so similar. Controlled and chaotic. Aggressive and sublime. Male and female...

I hate him. I love her.

I watch her fawn over him and cannot keep the disgust off my features. It becomes harder and harder to disguise each time Iım exposed to his flaunting of what belongs to me. Maybe not in the technical sense, sireıs privileges and all, but her heart belongs to me. It always has.

I hate him. I love her.

My ripe, wicked plum. My dark goddess.

How could she do this to me?

For one hundred years, I catered to any whim her delightfully childish heart thought of. For one
hundred years, I worshipped her, treasured her, cherished her, venerated her like royalty. And why not? She was my princess.

Is my princess.

I hate him. I love her.

How is she able to forget the intimate moments -- the tenderness so quickly? I havenıt. Itıs not possible. Hell, Iım still getting over Angelus--

Fuck.

I hate him. I love her.

I console myself with a myriad of thoughts that all begin with ŒJust wait..ı
Just wait until I can walk again..
Just wait until you see Iım as strong as I ever was..
Just wait until you wake up one evening with a stake pressed against your undead heart... that will teach you go crawling back..

I hate him. I... love her?

I do. I really do. I just... why? Sheıs mad, but not stupid. She knows this is hurting me. I can only
assume she is revelling in my pain. After all, demons arenıt supposed to feel love. They obsess, they have infatuations, they have preoccupations with, but they
donıt love.

Do they?

I hate him. I love her.

Of course sheıs doing it on purpose. She delights in it. She blows me kisses from his lap. She follows him to his bedroom every morning leaving me cold. She knows exactly what sheıs doing. I hate that. I--

I hate him. I love her.

He watches. He sees my jaw clench when he touches her. He gets that effinı smirk whenever she touches him. He traces patterns on her palm, like he used to do to me.

He used to respect me. I know he did. Well, as much as an egomaniac like him could. I am nothing more than a figure of fun now. He walks in the door, and just like that, the familyıs back together?

I donıt think so.

He walks in the door, just when Iıve almost come to terms with his sudden disappearance that devastated us both, and turns my unlife upside-down. His obsession with that blonde bitch erased the sire I once new, my mentor, my father, my companion, my.. friend. What remains is most definitely not the demon I came to lo-

I hate him. I love her.

I can feel the frustration boiling up inside of me. For the better part of one hundred years, I fashioned the aching loss of my sire into a hatred for his absence, and focussed on her. We were still very much our sireıs childer. After his loss, we came to exist not for him, but for ourselves - for each other.

How can he come back and take that away from us? Away from me? How can he come back and give me one dream while ripping away at my reality?

It would hurt less if I didn't give a ratıs arse about him.

It would hurt less if I could stop loving her so much.

Now I sit in this bloody chair in this bloody room that has become my prison. I can hear him boast of his latest plans to torment his ex. I hear her squeal in delight as he picks her up and swings her around. I hear my teeth grind together in an unconscious action.

The masochist in me refuses to let me close my ears to the sound of their laughter. The masochist in me refuses to let me close my heart to the sound of the two loves of my unlife casting me aside like fucking garbage.

So I lean back and listen, dampness blurring my vision as I consider what will happen to both of them when I regain my strength.

I love to hate him. I hate to love her.

Fics by author ~ Fics by rating

Archive ~ Writing ~ Links ~ Extras ~  Site