Obsessive Lust
"Met thousands of eyes. Learned to interpret them. And only one out of every hundred ever made it through me."
She wasn't boasting. She was simply stating a fact.
"What are you saying?" I asked, although inside, I already had an idea where this was headed.
"Your eyes."
She leaned over slightly, not threatening—just closer, more intimate.
"They scream disgust. Hate. You say you don't feel anything for him anymore. But hate? It's not the opposite of love. It's part of it."
I blinked. Once. And then again.
"Y-you're talking rubbish," I said hastily, too hastily. My voice shook, and she saw it. She didn't push, though. She didn't need to.
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