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“Komaeda-chan,” Enoshima giggles, tugging Komaeda closer by the chain around her neck. It makes her sick, hearing her name sullied by Enoshima’s poisonous tongue. “You’re awful, you know that? Absolutely rotten to the core. Tell me, Komaeda-chan, why are you so twisted?”
Enoshima knows the answer quite well, Komaeda realizes. She just wants to hear it from her own bruised lips, with Komaeda on her knees. And that’s perfectly fine; whatever Enoshima wants, she’ll give to her.
“Twisted?” Komaeda laughs hoarsely. “I could be asking you the very same question, Enoshima! It seems we have very different definitions of that word.”
Twisted would be turning some of the world’s greatest symbols of hope against everything they ever stood for. Twisted would be using them as pawns in your deplorable schemes. And, perhaps, twisted would be keeping a high school girl as your servant, bound in chains and collared. (Not that Komaeda ever minded that part.)
“Do we?” Enoshima muses. “You say that because you think I’m so backwards, don’t you?”
“Detestably so,” she replies with a grin. She, who worships hope, and Enoshima, who worships despair, could not be more opposite.
“I think you’re backwards, too, Komaeda-chan. Disgusting, even.” She reaches down to rake her nails through Komaeda’s knotted hair, not stopping when she reaches a snag. “I think it’s backwards, the way you claim to hate me, then kiss me like you love me.” She sneers this, like she’s accusing Komaeda of a lie.
“Ah, but those words aren’t opposites at all, are they? I’d have thought you knew that better than anyone.”
Enoshima hums. “I guess so. But you can trust that I don’t feel anything towards you except absolute loathing, my dear Komaeda-chan!” Despite the cruelty of her words, she’s grinning brightly. Her fingers tighten in Komaeda’s hair, and she tugs her upwards until she’s on her lap.
Komaeda winces at the burning sensation on her head, but she does not scream. “The feeling is mutual. If you hate me so much, why do you keep such a worthless human as me around?” she asks through gritted teeth. Enoshima’s nails continue to dig into her scalp, hard enough to draw tears from her weary eyes.
“Because,” Enoshima grins, “I’d love nothing more than to see your despair.”
Enoshima bites into Komaeda’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Komaeda does not despair at this, because she knows this pain as her worth.