" He's a
lot of things.
Made of his own anger. And of the family that built itself up
around him - a family of outcasts, of drop-outs and
almost-killers and dreamers, and a crazy kid or two. He only
talks when there's a cigarette between his lips, and when I
told him smoke's a killer, I felt him chuckle and heard him
ask,
"So?"
He's fire; red, and angry, and loud. He only grins when his
heart hurts. He's a monster a lot of the time - not an
anti-villain, because who's he gonna save? Well, he saved
little blind Anna, and now she holds his hand like a daughter.
But he's only 24, and he's already the urban fear of
the city.
He sleeps like a child, and it takes him half an hour to
realise he's awake. He likes to smoke on the balcony right
before the sun rises over the skyscrapers.
He only holds me when he thinks I'm asleep.
When he kisses me, his mouth tastes of ashes and hope and a
combination of the two that I'm tempted to call
'love'---
but I won't.
His voice is so bored all the time, like he's just woken
up. He always sounds like he's being cruel to the air
he's breathing - like he's teasing it, just a little.
And it's deep. (And once, I made him gasp, and it became my
favourite sound.)
Once, he kissed me in front of everyone; in front of Anna, in
front of his gang family, even in front of the
police that were chasing him. Passionately.
Because he knew I would hate it.
Well, partly.
Don't blame me for falling for him. I knew what I was
getting into.
But damn ---
the
boy's worth his hell.
"
SecretlyBrokenAndSilentlyHoping · 1 decade ago
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This is so amazing. I wish I could write like this.