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"Why is it you always start this?" I asked him, hoping to get more of an answer than 'I don't know' or 'You started it, bitch.'

He just shook his head and picked up his plastic guitar from the floor again, not bothering to retrieve his glasses from the table as he turned on his video game and began a song. I leaned forward and pulled a hoodie over my head.

He didn't even bother to look at me before he said, "I don't start anything with you. Every time you come over, it's after you've been with your boyfriend that I obviously am not as good as. You think I can't tell when you two are fighting?"

I shrugged and looked for my bag. It had my makeup in it, and there were serious marks on me that needed to be covered.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He smirked and glanced in my direction. "Oh really? Then why are you being bitchy with me for no apparent reason? Does he not understand you, Amanda? Does he feel sorry for you? No, don't tell me. Let me guess. He doesn't actually love you."

"Paul, just stop it. You don't love me either; I don't know why we're fighting about this."

"Whatever." He turned back to his game.

I went to his bathroom and began pulling out cover-up and pale powders. Like magic, all of his property marks vanished. I stared myself down harshly in the mirror before returning to his room to find my shoes. Paul looked up from his game and paused it as he examined me.

"Didn't I bite you two minutes ago?" he asked, curious as to what had happened to the dark purple half-moons that he had left on my wrists.

"I covered them up."

"Why?"

"Because I look like trash running around with your marks all over me, Paul."

"You weren't complaining when I put them there. Why the hell do you bitch about all the marks, anyway? Can't you just leave them there?"

I looked away from him and his burning eyes. "I don't like looking like some common vamp-whore."

It was his turn to shrug. "Fine. Why don't you just flee back to your dark little room and cry about it. Oh and by the way, you don't look like a whore-"

My heart fluttered for a moment, then dove into my stomach.

"-you look like a cheap Halloween display," he laughed.

Biting my lip, I turned and headed for the front door.

"Use the back, babe. My mom is home."

Glaring, fuming, I asked sarcastically, "Oh, is that the door that all the whores use? I'm sorry master."

Standing up and looming into my face, he retorted, "No, that's the door you use."

"Really? Because if I remember correctly, you told Ryan to come over one night and left it open for her, but she never came, and that's why you were coughing three weeks straight." I slid open the door to leave.

He grabbed my hand, turned me around, slammed me against a wall. "I don't want you to go, babe."

My gasps began to turn into whimpers as he bit hard into my neck, crushing my airways. This was how he fought; ugly words and dirty pain. His hands were stemmed against the wall and my nails dug into his back through his shirt, making an attempt to leave harsh marks. One of his hands trailed to my throat, hesitating wherever he could find a pulse. I could only shudder and wince and try to slow my heart rate, pleading with my body to slow it down, to slow him down.

His smiling lips left a soft brush of a kiss upon the spot that now throbbed and pulsed in shame. "Try to cover that one up... whore."

Description
"Why is it you always start this?" I asked him, hoping to get more of an answer than 'I don't know' or 'You started it, bitch.'

He just shook his head and picked up his plastic guitar from the floor again, not bothering to retrieve his glasses from the table as he turned on his video game and began a song. I leaned forward and pulled a hoodie over my head.

He didn't even bother to look at me before he said, "I don't start anything with you. Every time you come over, it's after you've been with your boyfriend that I obviously am not as good as. You think I can't tell when you two are fighting?"

I shrugged and looked for my bag. It had my makeup in it, and there were serious marks on me that needed to be covered.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He smirked and glanced in my direction. "Oh really? Then why are you being bitchy with me for no apparent reason? Does he not understand you, Amanda? Does he feel sorry for you? No, don't tell me. Let me guess. He doesn't actually love you."

"Paul, just stop it. You don't love me either; I don't know why we're fighting about this."

"Whatever." He turned back to his game.

I went to his bathroom and began pulling out cover-up and pale powders. Like magic, all of his property marks vanished. I stared myself down harshly in the mirror before returning to his room to find my shoes. Paul looked up from his game and paused it as he examined me.

"Didn't I bite you two minutes ago?" he asked, curious as to what had happened to the dark purple half-moons that he had left on my wrists.

"I covered them up."

"Why?"

"Because I look like trash running around with your marks all over me, Paul."

"You weren't complaining when I put them there. Why the hell do you bitch about all the marks, anyway? Can't you just leave them there?"

I looked away from him and his burning eyes. "I don't like looking like some common vamp-whore."

It was his turn to shrug. "Fine. Why don't you just flee back to your dark little room and cry about it. Oh and by the way, you don't look like a whore-"

My heart fluttered for a moment, then dove into my stomach.

"-you look like a cheap Halloween display," he laughed.

Biting my lip, I turned and headed for the front door.

"Use the back, babe. My mom is home."

Glaring, fuming, I asked sarcastically, "Oh, is that the door that all the whores use? I'm sorry master."

Standing up and looming into my face, he retorted, "No, that's the door you use."

"Really? Because if I remember correctly, you told Ryan to come over one night and left it open for her, but she never came, and that's why you were coughing three weeks straight." I slid open the door to leave.

He grabbed my hand, turned me around, slammed me against a wall. "I don't want you to go, babe."

My gasps began to turn into whimpers as he bit hard into my neck, crushing my airways. This was how he fought; ugly words and dirty pain. His hands were stemmed against the wall and my nails dug into his back through his shirt, making an attempt to leave harsh marks. One of his hands trailed to my throat, hesitating wherever he could find a pulse. I could only shudder and wince and try to slow my heart rate, pleading with my body to slow it down, to slow him down.

His smiling lips left a soft brush of a kiss upon the spot that now throbbed and pulsed in shame. "Try to cover that one up... whore."