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One day the two of them would die, and it would end with them bleeding together. Their blood being torn from each other's hands as they fight and claw.
Neither would come out victorious. They would lay, cradled together, whispering gentle words as if their hands hadn't been the ones to harm the other. Like their words meant anything at all.
Even after the light had left their eyes, their gazes would be fixed within their lovers eyes. They never wished to look at anybody else.
It was love, was it not?
How close are hate and love?
Was love simply a twisted version of hate?
Rich fixed his gaze onto Jake's jacket. It was lying over their cheap couch. He had tossed it there as soon as they got through the door.
He cast his eyes upwards to see his lover entering into their living space from their shared bedroom. Rich often spent nights on the couch instead of the bed. Jake did the same.
"Are you still upset?" Jake grumbled from the doorway.
"I told you, I don't like it when you make fun of me to others," Rich argued.
Jake scoffed. "Dude, I have told you a million times. Teasing you isn't making fun of you."
"It is when you say shit about me that I don't like," Rich countered.
Jake sighed, gripping the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. "All I said was that-"
"It doesn't matter what you said," Rich interrupted. He stood from the couch, facing Jake. He probably looked foolish with the height difference. "I told you I didn't like it."
"You say way worse about me," Jake yelled.
The argument was pointless. That's what it always seemed to be with them.
They fought and yelled. They bit and scratched. Their claws and teeth were always sharp.
The words they said dug deep. Their trust in each other left space for weakness.
"Of course your parents never fucking came back," Rich found himself screaming. "I wouldn't have stayed around you either. I would have been far too disappointed."
"My parents weren't the ones who hit me Rich," Jake yelled back. "And I never got a fucking computer implanted in my brain because I was that desperate for someone to like me."
"If you weren't so desperate for love and attention why do you play so many sports?"
It was never words they meant. Everything came out in the heat of the moment. Every word was intended to stab. They never apologized. They didn't believe the words, yet they wanted to.
Despite the constant fighting, there were beautiful moments. It was just them. It was them against the world.
Everyone else was hidden on the opposite side of a curtain. Nobody ever wished to open the curtain at night in fear of something staring back at them.
If they opened the curtain, reality would look them in the face.
They stayed nestled in the room together, curtain closed.
It was as if fear kept them together at times. Not fear of each other, yet fear of losing the only grasp at reality they had.
It was only them. They were thrown together and they could never leave.
The lid was removed. They never jumped higher.
Rich and Jake stayed in the jar together.
There was only black surrounding the world. Far in the distance there was a bit of light.
They laid together, curled up, showcasing their love and devotion in that light. No portion of their love was fake.
Their hatred was just as real.
It was almost as if they thrived on it. If they did not hurt each other, they had nothing. The pain kept them flourishing. Wasn't it usually the opposite?
Rich had never known anything but pain. His mother's death, his father's form of 'discipline', his entire high school experience.
His Squip knew the only way to make him listen was through pain. The words weren't always enough. Multiple shocks ran through him to make him obey.
He didn't enjoy experiencing pain, he enjoyed being in charge of it. For once in his life, he had the opportunity to be the one harming another.
Every portion of his life he was harmed. With Jake, he recieved the same. Yet, he could hurt Jake with his words and Jake would never leave.
He could hurt Jake and they would still be madly in love.
There were times that Rich thought he hated Jake. He couldn't stand so much about him. The idea of leaving made him sick.
Part of him needed Jake. He couldn't live without him. It wasn't fair. It was true. It was, and he hated it.
He thrived off the moments of control he had.
He hated the moments he wasn't in control of.
Jake was often far too obsessive. He was pathetic and needy and wouldn't leave Rich alone. He required so much and made it difficult for Rich to think.
It wasn't just that. How could he be obsessed with Rich one moment and then utterly bored the next?
Jake never really had a successful relationship. He had that with Rich. They were always left broken and upset before. Even his relationship with his parents only ended in pain.
So many of his relationships were torn apart from pain. He almost wanted to sabotage himself. It wasn't on purpose, really.
One day he would hurt Rich so bad that he never returned. He would be like everyone else. He almost wanted it. Jake craved that release, yet he never hoped for it. He needed Rich. He needed him. His wants could be placed aside.
They would rip each other's hearts out and place them on display. It would still beat. They would stare at the prize, the treasure that is their love and pride.
Nothing could compare to the love they felt for each other.
Less could compare to the twisted sense of hatred.
Jake and Rich looked into each other's eyes once again. It would be far from the last time.
Their lover would be their undoing.
They would die tearing each other apart.