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While Drea had never been naive, she—as most people do—had from time to time found herself lost in daydreams of future love and how it would be.
She had twirled her straightened dark hair on her perfectly manicured finger and let herself get momentarily lost on all the things her future lover would be: they would be ambitious and hard-working; intelligent and gentle; supportive of her and her goals; and most importantly, they would love her deeply and truly, more than anyone else did—could.
These thoughts were something she rarely indulged, so few and far between, but they were still there—itching in the back of her head and digging into her skull—as a reminder of what she one day would get (and she would get it, she would make sure she got everything she wanted); a reminder of a love so true and full that it’d spill out of her, soft as silk.
Unfortunately, even if she hadn’t ever been naive, all her thoughts of love had been silly notions; notions too soft for someone like her, with a cadaver for a heart and venom for blood.
With insides so sharp, any love Drea found had to be equally as sharp to not shatter the second it made contact with her. Love so unbearably dark and jaded that came in the form of a girl; a taunting and jaded girl. A ghost from her past that yearned to live on.
Love, she found, was this: her lips pressing down on Eleanor’s, one hand tugging on her blonde hair and the other slipping past her purple plaid skirt to palm her ass, all with the intention of destroying her; of devouring her whole so she could never look at her but always feel her beating within her.
Eleanor moaned as she squeezed her ass and tugged on her hair, and Drea kissed her harder—she wasn’t sure if it was to silence her or to swallow her moan.
When she pulled away, there was lipstick smeared on Eleanor's chin. It was merlot red, a dark contrast against her skin; almost as dark as blood. And it always came down to that: blood, she wanted her to bleed, dark and red, just as much as she wanted to feel her soft lips brushing against hers.
I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, beat like a drum in her heart. A feeling so true and full it devoured her from the inside out, leaving no remains of her behind.
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Eleanor’s jaw. She kissed down her throat, placing hard kisses there, hoping they’d leave marks. She pressed a bruising kiss on her pulse point, feeling the beating of her heart underneath her lips—a heart that thumped in the same rhythm as hers; a heart that was as blackened as hers, twisted and going to its own tune.
Drea was sure that, in the most fucked up way possible, Eleanor was her soulmate.
As much as she wanted to grab the pillow to Eleanor’s right and smother her with it, the thought of living without her was completely suffocating. Eleanor was like the sun: so bright and so full of warmth—but bright enough to hurt to look at, hot enough to scorch. (She had learned nothing from Icarus it seemed since, despite it all, she was trying to kiss the searing sun too).
Eleanor was a backstabbing, scheming, evil bitch with a rotten inside and a mouthful of sharp teeth—and she was hers, just as Drea was hers too. They wanted each other dead but would die without each other.
Drea pressed her lips to hers again, her hands going to cradle her face, and Eleanor’s soft hands went to her own, caressing her skin and holding them in place. God, her touch was so soft, so gentle, she wanted to melt into it and swat her hands away in equal measure.
When she pulled away, Eleanor’s eyes shone as she looked at her, an ocean ready to pull her under and into its depths. It seemed, that even with how twisted and wretched they were with each other, Eleanor did love her.
The gentle way Eleanor touched her, the way her eyes shone with a million stars, sung tunes of love. A love so deep and true, one that no one could fake, one she understood. A love tangled with searing hatred; one that was palpable, beating out of her chest.
Drea’s thumb caressed Eleanor’s cheek. “I hate you.” I love her, I love her, I love her, beat like a drum in her heart, a feeling so true and full it devoured her from the inside out, leaving no remains of her behind.
Eleanor smirked, eyes glinting. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”