Guilty P L E A S U R E S [reagan]

[envy greene]

&& Shirt
&& Jeans
&& Belt


Her mind was so perfectly distracted from the bright rays falling on the sidewalk like a massive heat wave. She was more than ready to get into the air-conditioned parlor, and get this thing on the road. She already had several tattoos; one on her shoulder, one on her ankle, and even one on her arm. She wanted to add an addition to her collection - as any addict does. It wasn’t that she enjoyed the pain, because she was no masochist. More, she liked the aftermath and what had been inked and permanently attached to her forever. She often is one to hate commitment and dedication, and especially something too good to be true. But tattoos were so much different. She liked knowing that they, regardless of whatever shit she put herself through, would always be there. They would never leave her or abandon her - they were permanent.

Much more solid than any relationship or affair she ever had. The most she could say was about fifteen years, with her mother - then they split. She let Envy hit the high road and be put into foster care, because she herself was a fucking wreck. Since then, the longest true friendship or love life has been would be a rough six months or so. Maybe she was a masochist. She certainly put herself through enough torment and hell to serve right under the devil himself. Problem being, she was accustomed to living like a cheap girl. She never had anything growing up, so now when she wants something - she damn well gets it honey. Doesn’t matter if she breaks your heart in two, she’s a hardcore destroyer. Send her out to sea, and she’ll come back with the enemy at her knees.

She opened the door, while pulling out the picture of a fairy sulking on the moon. The colors were bright purple, black, and a little white. Underneath the moon, was script style letters reading ‘You label me, I’ll label you.’ Directly beside that was a decaying rose, in a bold blood red and green. You might think it sounded utterly clashing, but it flowed easily from one subject to the next. And written from the blood droplet beside the rose was ‘So I dub Thee Unforgiven.’ It was much more of a personal statement than something just on a whim. She took pride in the design, since it took her a year to finally master and determine that was what she wanted. It spoke so much louder than the other tats, and she was going to place it on her left shoulder, carefully hiding the crooked scar.

She was finally moving on. She hadn’t forgiven him yet, and probably never would - but she was finally putting to rest the anger that she held towards her old man. The pain and grief he caused her, along with tearing her entire life apart. No, she would always remember him, and this would help her get over a milestone. She placed the piece of paper down, and the woman looked up with her with a bit of awe. When she asked if Envy drew it, she nodded, then gave the woman her name. The woman smiled, and nodded and told her fifteen minutes, snatched the paper and walked into the back. Envy sighed, and went to stand outside by the door.

[reagan delcambre]

He strolled casually down the sidewalk, that cocky swagger evident with every step he took. That infamously signature lone cigarette dangled from his pale lips, and hands were stuffed inside the pockets of his tight and ripped designer jeans. Nothing less but designer could be expected from Mr. Delcambre.

He was by himself, but what else was new? Apart from the club scene or the band, it wasn’t rare or shocking to see Reagan on his own. Especially seeing as he wasn’t the friendliest guy on the block. Oh, far from it. There was no such thing as friendships really to him. Just acquaintances and people he used to benefit himself. And he couldn’t blame people for not taking his shit. He was an asshole and generally, people despised assholes; no sense in denying that little piece of fact.

A pair of dark-lensed aviators sat atop his strong nose, hiding icy blue eyes from the stinging bright rays, as well as from wondering eyes. See, Mr. Delcambre wasn’t completely sober; far from it to be quiet frank. But nowadays, he was hardly sober.

As cliche as it sounded, life was idealistically better when he couldn't remember it. It wasn't like he had anything memorable to live up to anyways. So he rather be a delusional asshole caught up in pretending than admit that he was good for nothing. As the Beatles so eloquently stated "I need a fix because I'm going down." Ah, lyrics he held so dear to his nonexistent heart.

However, that was all besides the point. He had been smoking weed only a few hours earlier; nothing drastic, but bloodshot eyes were a sure sign to give him away. And to be honest, he didn't want to have a run in with the law, especially if it could be avoided. He had tried the eye-drop trick, yet not even that could help today. So instead, he'd decided on a good ol' pair of aviators. He fucking loved them anyways. so what difference did it make? None of course. At least in his fucked up head.

He was so caught up in his own little world of drugs and parties that he almost missed the infamous Envy. Almost being the operative way. There was no way in hell he could miss a body like that. Ever. He may have been high, but not fucking stupid.

He stopped in mid-step, eyes widening slightly and for a second he lost his cool, unsure what to do: talk to her, turn and walk away, or actually approach her. Afterall, their relationship, if it even counted as that, had come to a messy end. They couldn't make up their minds, despite the fact that they were practically made for each other. Besides, Reagan was never good with awkward reunions with exes. It was uncharacteristic of him, and completely grating to his nerves that she could create such a reaction out of him.

He watched her curiously, taking note of the tattoo parlor. Another one? She was a fan, obviously. He had a couple of his own, but he hardly showed them off. Astonishing considering he showed everything else off. Deciding to stop being such a twat, he decided on approaching her. No harm in that. In any case, they were going to have to meet up sooner or later.

Might as well have it be on his own terms. It gave him the upper hand, and he rather have the upper hand than let her have it. Grabbing the cancerous stick from his lips, he casually approached her as if he hadn't just contemplated running for the hills. "Are you going to be showing off this one to me too?" He questioned salaciously, referring to the tattoo he assumed she was getting, and smirking.

No hello, or what's up. Straight to the point. The way Reagan liked it. Not the greatest way to start off a conversation with an ex, but it was a fucking start, right? [/font]

[envy greene]

She had involuntarily been show the ways of smoking and drugs quite early in her childhood; her friends were dealers, junkies, users and abusers. So naturally, she wound up smoking the cigarettes and indulging herself on some mary-jane. Even tried snorting once, but even the high wasn’t enough to compensate for her nostrils burning for hours. Getting high just wasn’t her thing. Remarkable right? Coming from a girl that would do just about anything to bed a hot body for the night. Usually sexual urges were linked to drugs and alcohol - hers? Just natural. She wasn’t cut out for the lifestyle of throwing your life away. Granted, she was an alcoholic - but beer and hard liquor, though sometimes expensive, did tend to be nicer on her wallet than illegal substances were. She often used that as an excuse when she bought another twelve-pack. She was doing it legally, and it was her choice. Now cigarettes on the other hand, were harder to give up. They tasted like shit, and tainted your clothes, house, and car with a thick putrid stench. But they were addictive. Simple as that.

She just recently gave up smoking when she joined the tour. Figuring, if she had to live in her SUV for days on end, she didn’t need to be smoking as she slept in the leftover fumes. If she hadn’t have stopped, her lungs might have just turned to a black dust. Now, more than ever, she was attuned to these senses and smells. She could almost always pick your poison by either your eyes or smell. Sometimes it brought back memories, urges. But more often than not, it revolted her. They way she had seen how it affected people’s lives just turned her away. The kids filing in and out of foster care, and each one ranging from twelve to seventeen - and more than half the time addicted to something.

She sometimes thought about these things, but most of the time just buried it in her memory graveyard. She had just gotten outside when she looked across the street. Lined up along almost every heart of a city was some sort of fast food or diner. Just thinking about it made her stomach grumble, since she had skipped lunch to make the appointment. Fifteen minutes can usually be translated to twenty or thiry for parlors, she figured she had time to kill. Before she started walking though, a familiar smell hit her nose rather violently. There was just something about it that she remembered. She started to turn around, followed by that provocative voice. Her spine shivered, and her jaw tensed. She was starring face to face with her ex, Reagan. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wanted to mentally crush it in her very hands.

She had no feelings for him. Lie. He was despairingly ugly. Lie. She wanted him to turn right back around and leave her alone. Truth. The way he hurt her was completely unseen by him. He didn’t have any feelings for himself, so why the hell would he give a damn about her? It made her angry to think of all those wasted nights at his crack house parties. The way he used to look at her, not for her, but for her body. He was a selfish pothead, and she ached for him to be near her. Try as she might, she adored him, but now from afar. And now, with a twisted demeanor of hate. ”fuck you." she managed through venomous teeth. She wanted to push him away and watch him fall to his knees. Lose a little bit of pride, so he could just mumble ‘I care about you’. It appeared, they were already connecting again. Sad, right?

[reagan delcambre]

He had no excuses for getting into drugs or smoking. No friends who mischievously coaxed him into trying a small puff. Or who coerced him into taking just a quick little snort to fit in. No. He had taken those matters into his own hands. He had decided on his own to slip into that scene of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyways. The boy didn’t even have a hard-knock life to blame. He was just a boy with way too much money on his hands. Money he has been pumping towards supporting his addictions.

Besides, it’s not like his parents were going to stop him. His father (the one he knew of anyways) was too busy with his affairs, and his mother wallowing in self-pity. If you do the math, that left Reagan on his own to do whatever the hell he felt like doing. Partying till the break of dawn, snorting coke, drinking himself to the brink of unconsciousness, streaking; whatever was in the books of promiscuity, he had done it. And it was all due to boredom. It was pathetic.

But he wasn’t thinking how pathetic he was. He never did. He liked to ignore that unflattering trait of his. So instead, he switched his focus to the fiery vixen in front of him. The one who, unbeknownst to her, made him ache, both emotionally and physically. It was too fucked up, really. He was fucked up, as much as he tried to pretend he wasn't. It was all a defense mechanism. A lie.

As he watched with amusement at her sudden awareness of his presence, he brought the tar-filled stick back to his mouth, sucking in the toxic fumes he found comfort in. The drugs, the cigarettes, the alcohol-they were always there. Those things never abandoned him. Never. Just like Envy's tattoos never abandoned her. Two different things they both found security in. So much in fucking common, right.

His brows shot up at the warm greeting, and he couldn't help it as a sardonic chuckle escaped his warm and poisonous lips. Ouch, she was blunt. He liked it.

fuck you.[/b] Damn, he had been getting that a lot lately. More often than he'd like. And definitely not in the way he'd prefer to getting such a crude remark. He guessed he just tended to bring out the worst in people. It was a terrible habit of his.

Stepping so he was a tad closer, he spoke up in that condescending tone of his. "No need for such hostilities, doll." He emphasized on the last word, hoping to rile her up. He didn't quiet understand why he enjoyed digging his own grave with her. It was damn ridiculous. "I was just asking a question," he continued on innocently. He acted as if he hadn't provoked her, but he was sure she knew what a manipulative son of a bitch he truly was.

Running a hand through disheveled locks, he began speaking again, when honestly, he should have fucking stopped. But that was another flaw of Mr. Delcambre's. He didn't know when to shut his mouth. He ran it at any chance he got. "And I wanted an answer, not a fucking statement." He drawled out with a hint of a smile lingering on his visage. Cerulean orbs took the moment to watch her, see her reaction to his arrogant statements himself. She looked damn good, and it killed him that she did. Why couldn't she be hideous. As shallow and shitty as that was, it would have made everything fucking ten times easier. Honestly.[/font][/size]

[envy greene]

She felt like she was spinning in a time capsule with the cover super-glued shut. Everywhere she looked, she could see his face, smell his breathe, feel his skin. She felt like a perfectly mannered dog receding back to it’s masters command. But that feeling was abruptly ended, with every vivid memory brought back. The way Reagan dressed himself so nicely could almost give you the wrong impression. You see potential and the looks, and instantly associate him with a hard working citizen of society. What’s below the surface though, is a conniving boy, spoiled by his parents absence. Another tick that itched beneath her skin and made her try to wish away her lust for him. It was like Titanic from hell, with some roles reversed. She was the poor one, living day to day - and he was the rich one with every opportunity under the sun. And they were both fucking doomed.

She watched with disgust as he brought the cigarette back to his lips, and her eyes followed. The envious glance lasted merely seconds before she focused back on him. That’s probably what he wanted. He wanted her to want him, he fed off his status amongst the women. How could she judge him, when she did the same thing. Bed’em and break’em. That was the game, and if you started to lose your focus, you lost it all. Not just your lifestyle, but everything you’ve ever known. It was the perfect denial, never owning up to your own mistakes, and blaming others. That’s what she did. At least in the public eye. She would cuss out the innocent bystander, then go home and repent with the vodka as her priest. She wasn’t any better than him, though she tried to believe she was.

His chuckle made her eyes narrow with anger, that he could be so nonchalant about this whole thing. Did she really mean that little to him, that he could just walk up to her and pretend they were new flirts? Unknown to her was any feelings or emotions from him, but it would probably just confuse her if he showed any. She took a slow breath, allowing her hands to rest on her hips. He took a step closer, and she felt an immediate need to back away. She didn’t though, resisting the urge to make his seducing lips to form another smile. Almost powerless to his eyes that she couldn’t see tucked behind his sunglasses. She was no victim, and didn’t allow him the simple pleasure of any sign of civility. She fought back the urge to look him over again. He was gorgeous, and he new it. Another pet peeve of hers, but it never seemed present to her until they split.

The bottom of her lip curled with ferocity. He was digging under her skin, just like the perfect heroin. She moved her hand off her thigh, and clenched it with animosity. She was having a quick flash back of their one night of freedom, how smooth they moved. How manipulative he was. She didn’t have the gift of virginity to offer anymore, and she was glad he didn’t get the honors. Why was she allowing herself to get so riled up? She couldn’t refrain though, having the alpha personality, and the utter desire to correct him. To prove that asshole wrong. ”Doll? You lost that privilege to give me pet names a long time ago you ego-inflated bastard.” She might have given him an opening, but she was ready to throw it all out on the line. She was perfectly ready for a fight. That’s what she was good at.

And that was what he was good at provoking. It intensified her glowering mood by thinking how much he would enjoy seeing her loose her grip. Another piss poor statement, and she sneered. ”Poor poor baby. Everyone else gives you what you want.” She snorted with the vile building in her voice. ”But you won’t get it from me.” She’d be damned if she let him set his clammy fingers on her skin ever again. Just thinking about his touch made her skin shiver, and her pulse quicken. She hated him for getting such a flattering emotion out of her.

[reagan delcambre]

He scoffed unsympathetically. Still with the tough girl act; it was getting old. He stroked his chin in faux-thought. "Ego-inflated bastard? Not your best, En, but I suppose I can forgive you." He sneered out condescendingly. Comments such as these he was almost positive would reward him with a reaction. He loved being able to get under her skin, to bring out that explosive side of Envy. It was unhealthy of him, but the best addictions were the unhealthiest ones, was his twisted reasoning. Another step closer. "Besides, who the fuck are you to tell me what I can or can't do," he continued on ruthlessly. It was true, no one told Reagan Delcambre what to do. He supposed it was the Irish side of him that concocted such a superiority complex. Excuses, excuses. But it was just like him to spit out such a redundant argument.

As he stood there, closer to her than he had realized, a wave of nostalgia abruptly crashed into him at the sudden proximity he had purposefully created. The one night they had both let their guard down came slamming back to him unexpectedly. They had both been defenseless for solely a few moments, but those few moments were his downfall with this entire situation. He had let his guard down, and therein was the problem. He hated the fact that he had let himself be weak, and all over a fucking woman. It was disgusting. He loathed anything that even mildly resembled vulnerability. Which was why he hated being around Envy. She was one of the few that made him feel exactly just that: vulnerable. And as nasty as he acted towards her, that feeling would never change. So he was determined to make sure she never found out exactly how she made him feel. fuck, he sounded like such a sap. Pitiful.

Without hesitating, he delicately ran slim fingers across her cheek before tucking a random strand of hair behind her ear. God, it was like he was fucking bipolar. He might as well have been. And now he was treading on dangerous waters now. Seeing as how she had reacted to his mere presence, he couldn't even begin to imagine how she'd react to his touch. His movements were completely contradictory of his motives. Soft and gentle as opposed to malicious and brutal. If someone walking by caught a glimpse of the personal exchange, it'd look like two lovers relishing in the ecstasy of young love. Hah, they couldn't be farther from the truth.

"You sound so sure of yourself. Ignorance really must be bliss," he murmured mockingly in that sweet-tempered tone with an underlying confidence lingering beneath its honeyed facade. He was mocking her; mocking the fact that they both knew, as much as they denied it, eventually, they'd be under the same sheets, kissing the same vindictive lips. It was like a horribly tweaked modern version of Romeo and Juliet, except instead of two warring families, it was two volatile personalities. He stared unrelentingly with hidden cold eyes. He was adamant about winning this so-called game of theirs. Even if it meant tearing each other to shreds, he was willing to do it. Anything for a win. Damn right.
[/size]

[envy greene]

She snorted without the slightest sound of caring. He was going to pick and prod every single emotion out of her, and she was damned tired of it. That’s how she always was. She let someone get under skin, and wriggle their way into her heart. They either broke it or held it hostage, threatening to burst it if she didn’t do as they pleased. That’s how she felt. Like his stupid marionette, and to hell with the thought of no strings attached. Hers just might be frayed, but they were still there. ”Forgiveness isn’t your forte, Reagan, so it’s about useless.”, he voice was still hostile, but a little more cooled than the last burst. Why make a scene? As much as she loved attention, she never wanted it with Reagan around. Another lie. She was just full of these little lies, but they kept her on track. If she actually looked into them, she might see a side or herself she completely hated.

Because it was good. She denied having any real positive attributes, so opening herself up wide and looking in just might be her total nightmare. Her eyes widened with that returning animosity, and her eyebrow arched to new levels. ”Who am I?” she hissed looking disgusted. ”I’m the one person who will tell you to your face you’re a fucking waste. And I will tell you what you can and cannot do with me.” She knew he liked provoking her, and she had this tuition that he might have an ulterior motive for being here. Maybe, maybe not. By why would he bother arguing with her if he didn’t get some pleasure from her company? She considered this, but instantly tossed that thought out - knowing he was nothing more than a sex-fiend. She liked to think somewhere underneath the poisoned veins, and hard shell, there was a human being underneath. But when has she been one-hundred percent right about something? There was always a twist.

She watched in horror as his hand reached for her face. It was like she was stuck in a slow-motion movie, with her arms and legs feeling like dead weights. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn't protest. Inside her mind though, a piercing scream rattled her brains and exited in a hurry. His fingers across her cheek felt like a cold burn; like he had just branded her again. Who the hell was she? It was like he had himself a little slave, and the true queen of ice was faltering. The final stroke that broke the trance, was the gentleness as he tucked her hair. It woke her up from a dead sleep, with her hands on a gun. She reached her hand up as fast as her reflexes let her, and smacked his face with all she could muster. The Thwack cracked loudly, enough for any passerby’s to look over. She hoped she would leave a nice red mark on his face.

Her lip curled, as she moved her other hand and shoved his body away from her, enjoying in silence, the breeze of his body. The weed seemed to hit her hard, angering her more, that he might be too damn stoned to even care about this whole conversation. ”Maybe for you Reagan, but I’ve moved on.” her malevolent voice broke for a sweet sugarcoating. A smile perched gently on her plump lips, as she was almost tempted to lick them just to make him jealous. ”I’ve met someone new.” she prodded, giving a fake wink as she took a step back from him. She wanted all the distance in the world between them. She wanted him to hurt so bad, she could almost taste his tears. She wanted him to lose, so he would come crawling back to her. It made her smirk, unsure of his reaction. It was her time to do the digging and see him get riled up.

[reagan delcambre]

Hah. She was right. Forgiveness was just an empty word to him. Words that could be spouted out, but mean fucking absolutely nothing. He was unforgiving; he didn't ask for forgiveness, nor forgive. It just wasn't in him. A tragic flaw that would haunt him for the years to come. Relationships, friendships, and family members would be lost to him all over being a stubborn ass with the inability to forgive. He grinned as if she had just told him some inside joke. Some funny thing from their past. But really, there wasn't anything funny about their past. "You're right, I should really stop," He uttered casually, eyes staring hard into her own.

His eyes flashed with a myriad of emotions. The cerulean color darkening with anger at her petty comments. He was glad she couldn't see behind the dark lenses. He didn't want her to know that he was feeling anything towards her. He just wanted her to feel the cold burning touch of indifference. Her strained attempts were actually having an unbelievable effect on Reagan. One he ferociously ventured to blatantly ignore, or rather not admit to it. Because if he admitted to it, it would prove that he actually gave a fuck about Envy Greene. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn't about to instill false hope in either him, or Envy. A relationship would lead them fucking no where except for the land of the idiotic and heartbroken.

He wanted to retort with nasty comments. Wanted to tear her apart. Because she was fucking right. Another reason why their short-lived relationship had crashed and burned. She was always right, and he hated that she was. He hated that she was so fucking truthful, when she was supposed to be a liar. Why couldn't they both live in ignorance? Pretend like they didn't know these things about one another. It would make fucking everything so much easier. But no, life had to be a bitch and be complicated. He wanted her, desired for her to just play around and go along with his fucked up fantasy. To just fucking pretend. He hated facing reality. Hated it.

He stood there shell-shocked at the sudden slap to his face; his jaw had dropped slightly ajar. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. He simply stood there, a hand to his throbbing, red-colored cheek, staring mindlessly at Envy. He didn't think she'd have it in her to take such a bold, violent step. Especially with him. He stood there stoically for a couple of second, unable to respond in any sort of manner, his mind was drawing a blank. But then, it all rushed back to him, like water filling his lungs as he attempted to breath. Oh fuck, the girl had a death wish. Honestly. As he moved his jaw, and rubbed his cheek, a bitter, ice cold laugh escaped his lips. "Damn, En. Feisty today, aren't you?" He took a stepped closer now, this time without subtly. He was being blunt about it, no longer demure, or shy about it. She had pushed him back, obviously trying to establish personal space, but he was having none of it. He semi-roughly grabbed a hold of her hand, bringing her small body closer to his, not waiting for her permission. He was mocking the relationship they once had.

At this point, he was a savage, wanting to wound his prey. It was the worst part of him, clawing out for attention. Clawing out for the sweet revenge he lustily hungered for. He wanted to wrap his slender fingers around her fractured heart and break it. Wanted to make as much damage as he possibly could fucking manage. All so he could make up for the damage her insignificant little sentences were creating on him. Petty. That's all it was. Petty as fuck. Envy-one of the infamous seven deadly sins, could do that to you. And it was the fucking name of the girl he was coveting for christ sakes. Ugh, he hated irony. Unfortunately for the girl, she was digging far too deep. And he refused to lose and have her have the last say in this unstable conversation. If he had anything to do with it, he'd have the last words.

With an unstable and volatile personality like Reagan's, anything was bound to occur. "I never said anything about not moving on. Your putting words in my mouth, doll. I don't like it." His mouth twitched into a wicked smirk. His face was one of perfection and poise; no signs of remorse, or any emotion for that matter, embedded in the blank expression. The calm before the storm. "Met someone new?" He questioned with sarcasm. "Is that supposed to hurt me, shock me? Make me jealous? Because really, you're failing miserably, and that's just too bad, baby." He continued on with his acidic monologue, obviously trying to get some point across. "See, I'm not at all surprised. Seeing what a slut you are, i really wonder how many times you've moved on," He spat out, the poison in his voice so unavoidable. He didn't care if he had gone overboard. He didn't give a fuck if she slapped him again. He just wanted to make as much damage as he possible could. An unexpected tornado tearing through the innocent town.

He was being brought down, and he wanted to bring her down with him.

{ooc;; omg, i am soso sorry it took me so long to reply! this is way overdue!}

[envy greene]

Her lip quivered violently this time. Like she had just been slashed with a cauterized blade; leaving a nice thin cut on her skin while stopping the bleeding almost instantly. There was no room for an emotional response, just the bare naked feeling of words that weren’t meant to hurt, but they did. Terribly. They dug deep into her skin an kept stinging. Burning. She felt the small twitch in her eyes, and blinked back fiercely. Knowing, if she even let one tear fall from her emerald eyes - he would win. He would get it all, and she would lose everything. She had to put the façade back on, wear that mannequin face and cold responses. She dug her nails deep into her flesh as she clenched her fist wanting to break him into little pieces. She wriggled her other hand away from his despairing grip and took yet another step back, this time, backing herself against the glass of the parlor. She wanted to wound him mortally, and leave him to rot on the very sidewalk they were on. She wanted to hear him scream in pain, as she walked away and never looked back.

He truly made her hate herself for ever falling for such a cruel person. For ever taking that one big step past physical attraction. Then it lead to an emotional connection - and then to the commitment. That commitment she couldn’t possibly understand, because no one had ever been committed to her. How are you supposed to know how to feel, when everyone around you is so fake? So inhuman and penalizing of any inkling of a heartfelt response. At that point, she lost it. She could have broken down and cried on the street and not cared. Maybe that would make him uncomfortable, but most likely, he’d get some sick humor out of it. Instead, she just stopped caring. He didn’t loosen up and neither would she. She had to come to terms with the fact, that she loved him. Just the thought made her whole body wrench, but she had to at least see some truth in this fucked up world.

That was her only one-up against Reagan, she couldn’t always play along with a lie. Yes she had many of her own, but they always seemed to come out at all the wrong moments. She just couldn’t keep them all bottled up, because then - she’d be just like him. Be just like this heathen in front of her. She wanted a way out, she wanted to turn and run. But it was like all the walls were closing in, and the air was being sucked out of their little time-warp. Her eyes glazed back over, never really giving in to her prior moment of chaos. She watched his mouth twitch and started thinking of all the ways she could ruin those perfect lips of his, mar them in a way that he’d never be able to seduce another woman again. Her eyes narrowed, feeling that blood pumping back into her fingers. She had lost feeling in them moments ago, and looked down, seeing a small trickle of red go down her wrist. She had been squeezing so hard, she punctured the skin.

”I’m the slut?” her voice tested dangerously. She had been so used to those words, it merely bounced off her shoulder - though she refused to admit it stung a little more from him. ”I don’t have insecurity issues Reagan, so fucking whoever I want comes a little easier to me than it does you. You’re such a little pussy, you hide behind your drugs and pretend the entire world is out to get you.” Her voice was seething over, just like a angered dog with rabies. If he pushed her enough, she was bound to give him the disease. ”But I’ll let you in on a little fact; the world doesn’t care. They don’t care about you, and they don’t care about me. You’re stupidity lost you the only person that would ever give a fuck about you - but I don’t care. Not anymore.” Her words did give way to a new sentiment. Hate. She let him hear how cruel she wanted to be, and this, wasn’t a lie. Maybe he’d throw her words in a blender, and spit them back out; but her mind didn’t waver this time. It’s harder to get hurt, when she just spoke a true feeling. Not one that had an extra coat of venom, just to over-play her mood.

This was real. She had to move away from that glass, she had to get away from him. It was all too much for her. Her head pounded, but she didn’t know what to do. She hoped to hell the nice older lady would come out at any moment and tell her, they were ready. She was.

[envy greene]

STAFF:

This thread isn't over =] Unless Reagan prefers to end it.

[reagan delcambre]

fuck, he couldn’t breathe. fuck. His lungs were filled with air, yet he couldn’t fucking breath. Why, why, why. Was all he could think of. She was a girl. A fucking overly arrogant, narcissistic, destructive, and temperamental girl. She was him but with tits, and he didn’t like himself very much, as much as he acted like he was head over heals in love with himself. They were toxic for one another, perfection in the most hellish sense. She was fucked up, he was even more fucked up, and she seemed to be throwing in the towel. Another giving up on him, not being able to take the shit he so constantly and brutally dished out. He'd grow sick as fuck from all the shit he pulled too. Sleazing around with other girls, bitching, doing drugs. It all grew old, and fast.

Yet he still attempted to hold on. Why was he still trying desperately to hold on when it was so blatantly over? It was over before it had even fucking begun. That’s how all his relationships were supposed to be. They were all nonexistent. Just a good lay and he was gone. No cuddling, no whispered sentiments. Just a cold thanks for the good time, and a nice view of his back as he walked out. He was ruthless, cold-hearted. The only emotions taken into consideration were his own. Not Envy's, not his next lay, no girl. No exceptions.

But if he really felt like that, he knew he would have walked out. The minute he had seen her, caught a glimpse of his ex, he would have turned his heels and walked the other way. He wouldn't have approached it, provoked her, and brought back all those damn feelings he violently repressed. He didn't do all this ex shit, yet there he was. As always. Creating more drama than it was worth. He just couldn't go at it the easy way. He complicated every damn thing.

Yet, why couldn’t he just spit it out. He couldn’t just fucking tell her that the feelings were still there. Despite the words the venemous words that escaped his lips, despite all the bullshit he pulled out of his ass. The reason he acted like such a prick was because he did in fact care for Envy Greene. And Reagan Delcambre rather fucking drown than admit to that simple yet true fact. He could have ended their little battle, but he kept drawing it out. He knew it was easier said than down.

For once in his fucking life he could admit to hating these mind games. He actually loathed the fact that he could be so damn manipulative, and untrustworthy. He just self-sabotaged himself. She was right, as bloody always. She was one of the best things to ever happen to him. And what’d he think? That she would stick around? Not even his fucking supposedly best friend would stick around and he expected some tart that he had a one night stand with to? Hah, he was pathetic. This was exactly why he didn’t do this shit. He was too cowardly to put himself on the line. Too put his emotions on the line. Just watching his own parents live their lives in lies, was enough to make him want to choke himself. Love’s just a fucking excuse to get hurt and to hurt. He couldn’t understand how people could live like that. Marital bliss was a myth to him, two delusional people lying to one another simply to please society. Behind closed doors, the girl would be back to her petty ways, and the boy, well, back to his many girls.

fuck being cynical.

Oh shit. All he knew at that point in time was his desperate desire and need to shoot up after this was all over and done with. He could feel his muscles tensing, his veins beckoning for the bittersweet pain he was growing so accustomed to. He just wanted to forget this entire mess never fucking existed. He wanted Envy's face to just be a flicker in the back of his mind. Not a fucking constant reminder of how pathetic, worthless, and idiotic he was. He didn't need to be reminded of that every fucking day. And that's exactly how Envy Greene made him feel. Like he would never be good enough. Even for her. Even for a girl who already considered herself less than perfection.

He felt so pathetic. These foreign emotions washing over his body were overwhelming to say the least. He felt like an emotional pansy, and he damn-well hated it. Pussy was what she had called him and she was fucking right, as usual. Everything she had said stung, like the pricking of a thousand needles in his skin. He would never show that to her though. Show that she could even garner a reaction from him.

He stepped deathly close, his face mere inches away from hers. Lips so familiarly close, it almost pained him. Just a breath away, a duck of his head, and they'd be back to how they were that one night. The night that had doomed both of them to hell and back.

Cold cerulean eyes gazed harshly into her bright green ones, the brutality completely evident behind his own. “fuck the world. I'm not that desperate for attention, En." His voice was seething, the tone so unbelievably harsh. It was rare, even for him. "You don’t know who I give a fuck about. So stop talking like you fucking know me, Envy. You don’t. You fucking don’t.” Now he just sounded like a petulant child. Not bizarre considering that's how he acted.

All he had to do was turn back. Walk away and let her be. Let her get her ink, and that's that. They'd both never look back at this mistake that was their short-lived relationship. Turn away, and his body went to turn slightly, but that was as far as he found himself getting. It was like watching a car wreck. He knew it was wrong, he knew he should have turned away, should have looked away, but he couldn't. Just couldn't.

He clenched his fists, his body so close to her, those unwanted memories rushing towards him.

And despite all those nasty words that had been exchanged, lips dipped and lightly, dangerously brushed against hers. He couldn't resist. She was just so close. Maybe it was the drugs finally settling, distorting his brain and actions, but he had done it. There was no turning back now.

Damn lover's quarrels. fuck pride. This damn mess it got him in.

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[envy greene]

She felt his tension the second he got so close to her. She felt his dirty breathe sweep over her flesh like a long lost friend. Settling in that toxic need she always felt when she was around a boy who made her heart beat a little faster. But this was no ordinary boy. This was Mr. Reagan Delcambre. The one who swore no pity, no love, and damned no emotions. It was like hell didn’t even want such a distorted kid and spat him back out without a second thought. How could he feel nothing? Did he not see how mortally afflicted she was every time he was around her? Did he not see how her body attuned itself to his actions. Apparently, she had more self-control than she admitted. Though every breathe kept her locked to him. Tied to him in some invisible way that she couldn’t free herself from. This was her curse, her reward. She had reaped so many years for a few good fucks from a different man every time. She watched as they became nothing but another number to her. The stench faded and the memories blurred. But not now. Now she had to repent. Deal with her sins and crimes.

This was her punishment. She was no victim, nor avenger to a broken girl. She was the guilty and should be accepting to this behavior. Yet why did she dare deny it? It was him. That fucked up push-over that was robbing her breathe. She always talked about being on the highway to hell, and hear was her ticket. With one strategically place gaze, they had locked their doom. As much as she hated it - they would always be connected. Maybe they would move apart and never see each other again, but he’d find a way to haunt her. He’d steal her dreams like he was stealing her love. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t need. He only took it because he could. Her stomach ached as she tried to coherently decipher what the fuck was going on. Why was this happening to her? Yes, she started playing the pity card, because all other reasonable explanations had been disposed of. She played her mind to envision her as a stolen scarlet, seduced by the devil’s prodigy. When she finally realized what was happening, it was far too late.

For being such a bright girl, she really hit this mess blind-sided. She wished she could just forget about him, but love chooses for you. And she, was given Reagan. When his words sputtered out, she recoiled by his tone, trying to flatten herself against the wall, but not prevailing. He was already too close, and she felt his anger. She would have been flattered to reap such a reaction out of him, but was currently to afraid to let go of her intense gaze with him. The fear of what he might do to her engulfed her like a menacing storm. Had she pushed to much this time? Was he going to attack her here and now? Bash and bruise her until there was nothing left but a bloody pulp? Though her skin quivered and her blood pumped faster, her scrutinizing orbs kept locked to him. Almost daring him to keep going. Pushing him dangerously close to the edge. She was a fucking idiot. But she didn’t care, not right now, she wanted to see him break.

Her lips moved, but nothing came out. Nothing could possibly make sense of her emotions right now. She felt hatred, fear, and pity well inside her like a balloon. As she was trying to piece herself together, she felt with anew; his lips gently brushed hers. It was as is all those words that he just spat at her vehemently, were pushed aside by such a soft sensual gesture. Her mind oozed with desire, as she matched his approach, pushing her large lips towards his, and almost taunting him to keep going. That was when her eyes fluttered wide, and with an immense amount of self-control, she pushed him away as hard as her shaking bones could manage. Her green eyes burned holes into his skull, as she licked her lips in pleasure. ”Your going to have to try a lot fucking harder than that Reagan.” Her face never broke in one particular emotion, he would have to make the next move. If the kiss wasn’t invitation enough, he was a stupid stupid boy.

Where did all her anger drain away to? She knew it was there, she felt it’s hostility coiling around her, but impulse was in control now.

[reagan delcambre]

He was too damn prideful to admit it. It wasn't that he was blind to it, nor that he had been blindsided. Oh no. It almost felt like he knew it all along. That he had actually let himself fall for a fucking girl. It was all so deliciously cliche, but he had created and instigated his own blissful ignorance. Anything to keep himself content, right? But he had stepped over the boundary of a purely physical relationship, and it was exactly that reason that had him reacting like an asshole. Like a fucking prick to a girl he could have possibly had something real with. A stubborn boy in denial.

Eyes flashed open in mild surprise as she forcefully pushed him back. He impulsively licked his lips in a semi-nervous manner and ran a hand through disheveled brown locks of hair. The strands falling just above his eyes. He stared at her intensely. Those cold cobalt eyes ever breaking with her soft emerald ones.

"To be honest. I think we both know I don't have to try that much fucking harder, En" he murmured out arrogantly. Ah, and there lay the problem. So fucking blatant. He would never change. Never suck it up for a girl who was completely worth it. He would never change his character. He was the self-proclaimed King of Hades. A boy so cruel and tainted that hell itself swallowed him and spat him back out. It was something he was oddly proud of. He knew his reputation. The ruthlessness with which he was known for, and it didn't bother him one bit. Maybe it was the lack of having a conscious.

He wouldn't leave the drugs either. It was the main thing that had split them up in the first place. Drugs was number one, and everyone else, including himself, was second in his book.

But that was besides the point. Reagan was never one to look towards the future. Ever. Or the past for that matter. Instead, his thoughts were on the brunette beauty that made him want to scratch his eyes out, yet at the same time not. It was all so fucking paradoxical it was enough to make him want to endure some sort of Chinese water torture of the ugliest kind, and actually bear to take it.

He couldn't help himself as he wrapped a lean arm around her slender waist and brought her back towards him, despite her pushing him off earlier. Indeed, it was as if the past half hour or so hadn't even occurred. They were back to looking like a quarreling couple, making up after a much heated argument. But the attraction was there. He couldn't keep away. He bent his head, and brought his heated lips back to hers. Kissing her harder this time than the last. His bruised and aching lips finding hers easily.

He slid slender fingers underneath her chin, running a thumb across her porcelain skin. His mannerisms were delicate. The way he handled her physically at times was as if she were glass that would break at any second. Yet his words were cruel lashes at already open wounds. "God. You make my blood fucking boil." It was a backhanded comment, spoken spitefully as his lips parted from hers. It was the closest he had gotten to somewhat of a compliment. At least since they broke it off. He wasn't sure what the hell had gotten into him, and with lips like hers attached to his, he was not the least bit interested in knowing what the hell it was.

Love, as much as he deemed it as nonexistent, had a funny way of making things turn out a way completely unexpected. And my oh my how he loved the way she pushed his buttons. The way she challenged him in a way no other girl would. She questioned him, fought back, argued back-simply fired back in general. That he loved.

fuck though, it was like a damn light switch, the way Reagan Delcambre's moods could shift from one to another. He was damn moodier than a fucking girl. One minute he'd love it, and the next, just like that, he'd hate it all.

His mind was clouded, eyes hazed over lustily. He should have walked away then and there, but the kiss had sealed both of their fates. He had made is practically official. They were still in their fucked up game, and it looked like he wasn't planning on quitting any time soon. [/font][/i]