Breathe in. Breathe out.

This circled in her head, over and over. Meant to be calming but only increasing her anxiety. She wrung her hands until it was painful, and looked over at him; she could only wonder what he saw when he looked at her. The nightmares were growing and he was their embodiment. Did he know that? Could he see through her shield when he looked into her eyes? Possibly.

She checked her pulse and found it pounding; she could almost feel the blood rushing through her veins. She continued to stare at him, the monstrosity, and the perfection. He was unfazed and remained still as if frozen in time, and she wished she could see through him. In his mind was he so calm? Did he ever feel like her? Anxious and inadequate. No, this thing was nothing like her, he was barely there.

He spoke and she held her breath.

“Do you like to stare at me?” He questioned, not even caring to look at her as he spoke.

“Yes.” She stated, her voice was weak and breathing was becoming more of a chore.

“And what do you see?” He turned toward her so suddenly she almost moved back.

“Bitterness.” Her voice held more power this time but she felt the opposite.

He simply laughed at her, and she knew she had hit the nail on the head. His laughter was amazing at first, crisp and pleasant, then it was too much so to the point it became maddening and malicious.

“Why do you mourn this world?” she asked in barley a whisper, she almost though he wouldn’t hear her.

“I don’t mourn it, I despise it.” His voice held no emotion, and he stared at her in a way that felt like knives. She had always thought his eyes were cold and dead, but now she saw that really they were teeming with something she could not place.

“You don’t have to be bitter.” She wanted to be silent, to walk away from him without another word, but they kept coming.

“You don’t have to exist, your not important.” His words still had no infliction but his eyes told he felt something.

“And what are you?” Her fear was becoming over-ridden with her need to break him. To make him show that he feels and to destroy the perfection, the nightmare.

“I’m right.” His cockiness made her roll her eyes. He was trying to hard.

“You’re almost perfect.” She emphasized the almost, just coming to realize it herself.

And for the briefest moment anger was etched into his lovely features. A dark cloud began to grow around him, the nightmares.

He stalked forward and grabbed her forearm, his grip was bruising and cold. It felt as though her blood was beginning to freeze. He squeezed tighter and she felt the bones bend then snap, but while staring into his eyes she couldn’t even scream.

“You want to know what I think. I can tell you do.” He smiled at her, and for once it wasn’t perfect.

The haze around him heaved and darted forward, going straight for her eyes. They felt like needles puncturing her vision, and all she could see were flashes of suffering and torment. A barrage of things to horrifying to the human mind to handle. Were the nightmares screaming or was she?

The pain was too much and the fear she felt pumping through her veins was too much, she felt her heart begin to seize, she experienced the horror of feeling it stop. She fell and everything vanished, and that was all.

He stared down at her, her body contorted in agony. It didn’t matter, she wouldn’t feel anything anymore.

He almost wanted to shed a tear for her, almost.

She was beautiful, even in her despair. He continued to stare at her a little longer until he felt nothing once again.

He had almost cared about her, almost.