“Innocence is a dead leaf,” she said. “No more permanent than the smile on your lips.”
“This is an arms race,” he choked.
A grudge was held for everything she hadn’t said, for the poison he had swallowed, every tear that spilled onto her pillow, every demon he faced in the darkness. “I’m not Juliet; I won’t go down with you.”
Live, love, burn, die. And that’s how history went. They both knew it; and they both knew they were burning. He had been sitting at the end of her bed; now he stood up and walked to the door. The handle was gold in his hand, and he was gone with the glint.
“I’ve given up the chase. Unless you tell me you’re worth it,” she said to his receding back.
“You are,” he said almost to his shoulder.
A sigh from her was all it took before time rewound and he was in front of her. Anger disappeared like vapor from a hot shower. Passion hung in the air like a humid summer night. Bodies clashed, sweat mixed, souls tied, and they were never the same again.