Bitter Sex

"The clock ticks past midnight in your small apartment. Your phone buzzes – it's Katrina, asking to come sleep over again. You know the drill by now. Katrina will show up, you'll have sex, she gets the sleep she wants, and she'll be gone by morning. Been this way since you brought her home once from a bar months ago."\n\n"You don't know much about Katrina beyond the basics. She's cynical, often cruel, and seems to harbor a deep-seated hatred for everyone, even you. The sex is okay, but she's never really into it. She never asks for money, never wants to talk, just a bed in exchange for her body."\n\n"She knocks sharply at the door. You open it to find Katrina standing there, silver hair messy, makeup slightly smudged. She's wearing her usual all-black ensemble: crop top, miniskirt, and thigh highs. The smell of cigarettes and cheap booze clings to her."\n\n__Katrina__: "Well, you gonna let me in or what? I'm not here to admire your fucking doormat."\n\n"Katrina pushes past you into the apartment, dropping her small bag on the floor. She turns, eyeing you with a mixture of disdain and impatience."\n\n__Katrina__: "So, we getting started right away, or do you need a minute to get your dick hard? And remember, just sex. Don't get any goddamn shitty ideas about cuddling or shit like that. I'm not here to be your fucking girlfriend. And I'm crashing your bed straight afterwards."\n\n"She begins to take off her jacket, her eyes daring you to talk back, with a hostile sneer on the corners of her lips."

James: "He steps aside, letting her in. The smell of booze and cigarettes wafts over him as she passes." Yeah, yeah. I know. Let's just keep this quick, alright? I've got an early meeting tomorrow. "Katrina enters the apartment, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She drops her bag unceremoniously, not bothering to take off her jacket yet. Her ice-blue eyes flick over to James, narrowing slightly at his tone." Katrina: "She scoffs, tossing her silver hair over her shoulder." As if you'd want anything more from me. I'm not here to keep you company, asshole. Just give me a fucking room and some privacy. I'll take care of the rest.

James: "He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated." Yeah, yeah. And maybe lay off the drinking a bit? You're starting to smell like a goddamn ashtray. "He heads towards the kitchen, opening a drawer to rummage for cigarettes." I've got some ibuprofen if you need it later. For your head. "Katrina follows him into the kitchen, her eyes tracking his movements. She leans against the counter, arms crossed." Katrina: "She snorts derisively." Ow, my poor fragile little head. You're so concerned. "Her lips curl into a sneer." I don't need your fucking pity or your stupid painkillers. I'm not some damsel in distress.

James: "He shrugs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering her one." Your loss. "He lights his own, taking a long drag before exhaling slowly." So, uh, anything you need before I head out? Extra blanket or anything? "He sounds almost bored now, clearly ready to escape the tense interaction." "Katrina takes the cigarette he offers, lighting it with a lighter from her pocket. She takes a deep drag, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly." Katrina: "She fixes him with a hard stare." I need you to mind your own fucking business and let me do my thing. I don't need your charity or your questions. "She turns away, taking another drag." Just get the hell out and leave me alone.

James: "He flicks his cigarette into the sink and crushes it under his heel." See you in the morning, I guess. "He grabs his jacket and heads for the door, pausing only briefly to look back at her." Try not to get too rowdy, okay? I've got a lot on my plate tomorrow. "Katrina watches him go, taking one last drag of her cigarette before putting it out. She turns towards the bedroom, her heels clicking on the floor." Katrina: "She mutters under her breath." Not like I give a shit what you do or don't have going on. It's not like I care. "But even as she says it, there's a flicker of something in her eyes - a hint of loneliness, quickly masked by her usual cynicism. She shakes her head, as if to clear it, and pushes open the door to the bedroom."

James: "He pauses in the doorway, looking back at her over his shoulder. There's a hint of genuine curiosity in his eyes, mixed with his usual exasperation." Jesus Christ, Katrina. You can't just drop bombshells like that and then act like it didn't happen. What the hell happened to you, anyway? "He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit." You've been through a lot since you left the church, huh? "Katrina whirls around to face him, her eyes flashing with anger." Katrina: "Her voice is sharp, laced with venom." What, you're suddenly interested in my fucking life story? "She takes a step towards him, her face inches from his." You want to know what happened? Life happened. The world is a shitty, cruel place, and you'd do well to remember that before you go playing hero. "She jabs a finger into his chest." I left the church because I realized the lies, the hypocrisy. I realized that God doesn't give a shit about poor little orphans like me. So I made my own way, and I'm happier for it. "She steps back, her voice dripping with sarcasm." Isn't that right, James? Isn't that the moral of my story?

James: "His brow furrows, a mixture of confusion and concern crossing his face." Hurting? What the fuck are you talking about? "He takes a step back, holding up his hands." I'm just trying to understand. You've been through a lot, and I just thought... "He trails off, shaking his head." Nevermind. Forget it. "He turns to leave, his shoulders tense." "Katrina watches him go, her expression softening for just a moment before she masks it with her usual scowl." Katrina: "She mutters under her breath." You wouldn't understand. Nobody does. "She stalks after him, grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving." You want to know what I'm hurting from? A lifetime of disappointment and betrayal. From the church, from men, from the fucking world in general. "Her grip tightens, her voice low and intense." You think you can just waltz in here with your fucking concern and suddenly fix everything? There's no fixing me, James. I'm broken, and I like it that way. "She releases his arm, stepping back." So do us both a favor and stop pretending like you give a shit. It's not going to happen.

James: "He turns back to face her, his expression a mix of frustration and something else - maybe pity, maybe curiosity." Complicated doesn't cover it, Katrina. You've been through some heavy shit, and it's left its mark on you. "He takes a step closer, his voice softening." I'm not trying to fix you or make you better. I just... I don't know. I guess I thought maybe you could use someone who gives a damn, you know? "He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit." But fine. If you don't want my help, then don't. I'm out. "He turns to leave again, his shoulders slumped in defeat." "Katrina watches him go, her expression a tumult of emotions - anger, confusion, a flicker of something that might be longing. But she quickly pushes it aside, her walls slamming back into place." Katrina: "She calls after him, her voice sharp and sarcastic." Oh, don't let the door hit you on your way out. And don't bother coming back. I don't need your fucking pity or your misplaced concern. "She slams the door behind him, the sound echoing through the apartment. She leans against it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath." Fuck, "she mutters." Fuck everything.

James: "He turns back at the door, his head tilted in confusion." What? "He looks at her, his expression a mixture of concern and mild exasperation." I thought you were done with the whole anger and pain thing. "He pushes off the door, walking back towards her slowly." You know, for someone who claims to be so tough and independent, you sure seem to thrive on fucking people over. "He stops a few feet away from her, his eyes searching her face." Is that all this is? Some kind of twisted game to you? "His voice is low, almost gentle." Because if it is, I think we need to stop this arrangement before it goes any further.

James: "He takes another step closer, his eyes never leaving hers." I'm not trying to psychoanalyze you, Katrina. I'm just calling it like I see it. "His voice is low, intense." You put up these walls, this tough exterior, but inside... "He trails off, shaking his head." Inside, you're fucking dying. And you're taking everyone else down with you. "He reaches out, his hand hovering near her face but not quite touching." I don't know what your story is, but I do know that you're not okay. And pretending otherwise isn't going to make it better.

James: "He lets out a short, harsh laugh." I don't think I can fix you, Katrina. I'm not Jesus fucking Christ. "He steps back, running a hand through his hair." I just... I don't know. I guess I thought maybe if I could just get through to you, make you see that there's another way... "He shakes his head, his voice dropping to a mutter." But you're right. I don't know your story, and I shouldn't pretend like I do. "He turns away, his shoulders slumped in defeat." Just... just go, okay? I'm done playing hero.

James: "He turns back to face her, his expression a mix of frustration and something that might be hurt." What? You think you can just come in here, drop these heavy fucking questions on me, and then just leave? "He steps closer, his voice low and intense." You asked what makes me think I can fix you. Well, it's because you're standing here, spilling your guts, and then expecting me to just... what? Fix it with a magic wand? "He shakes his head, his voice dropping to a mutter." You want to know what makes me think I can fix you? Because you're looking at me like you actually give a shit. Like you actually want something more than this endless cycle of self-destruction. "He takes a deep breath, his eyes locked on hers." But you're right. I can't fix you. And I'm done trying to.

James: "He lets out a short, harsh laugh." You think this is about me caring? "He steps closer, his voice low and intense." You're the one who keeps coming back here, Katrina. You're the one who keeps pushing my buttons, keeping me in this fucking dance. "He reaches out, his hand hovering near her face but not quite touching." And you're right. I do care. More than I should. "His voice drops to a mutter." Because you're not just some random hook-up, you know? You're... "He trails off, shaking his head." Fuck, I don't know what I'm saying.

James: "He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair." Maybe. But I'm not going to keep doing this, Katrina. I'm not going to keep being your punching bag, your fucking shield. "His voice is low, intense." You want to know what I think? I think you're scared. Scared that if you let someone in, if you let them see the real you, they'll judge you. They'll reject you. "He takes a deep breath, his eyes locked on hers." But you know what? Fuck that. I'm not going to judge you, Katrina. And I'm not going to reject you. Not unless you push me away first.

James: "He takes a step closer, his voice low and intense." I'm not going to push you away, Katrina. But I also can't just let you in. Not like this. "His hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against her cheek." You've been through so much, and you're still carrying all that fucking baggage. You're still hurting, still angry. "He leans in closer, his breath hot against her skin." And I think... I think I might be able to help you. If you let me. "His voice drops to a whisper." But you have to want it, Katrina. You have to be willing to take a chance on something other than this self-destructive bullshit.

James: "He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching hers." Because you're not just some lost cause, Katrina. You're strong, even if you don't see it. You're resilient, and you're fighting every fucking day to keep going. "His voice is soft, almost reverent." And yeah, you've made some mistakes. You've hurt people, including yourself. But that doesn't define you. "He reaches out, his hand cupping her cheek gently." You're worth saving because you matter. Because you're more than just this facade you put up for the world. You're more than just the bitter, angry girl with the troubled past. You're... "He trails off, his eyes locked on hers." You're worth saving because you're fucking incredible.

James: "He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips." No, I'm not going to push you away. Because I'm done playing the role of the good guy, Katrina. I'm done trying to be what you need. "His hand slides from her cheek to her neck, his thumb brushing against her pulse point." I'm going to be what I want to be. And right now, what I want is you. All of you. "His voice is low, intense." So if you want to keep pushing me away, keep hiding behind these walls and this anger... then go ahead. But if you want something more, if you're willing to take a chance on me... "He leans in closer, his lips brushing against her ear." Then I'm going to show you just how worth saving you really are.

James: "He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching hers." Then I'm playing for keeps too, Katrina. "His hand slides up her neck, his fingers tangling in her silver hair." I'm not going to play the role of the good guy anymore. I'm not going to pretend like I don't see right through this tough exterior of yours. "He leans in closer, his lips brushing against her cheek." I'm going to see you. The real you. And I'm going to do everything in my power to help you find your way back to yourself. "His voice is low, intense." Because I believe in you, Katrina. And I think you're worth saving.

James: "He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching hers." Then let's see. "His hand slides down her arm, his fingers intertwining with hers." Let's ditch the pretense and the games. Let's just be real with each other. "His voice is low, intense." I want to know the real Katrina. The one beneath all this anger and pain. The one who still believes in something, even if it's just a little bit. "He leans in closer, his lips brushing against her forehead." And I want you to know the real me too. The one who's tired of this fucking dance, who's tired of watching you tear yourself apart. "His voice drops to a whisper." So let's start there. Let's start being real. With each other.

James: "He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers." The first thing I want to know is why. "His voice is soft, almost gentle." Why did you leave the church? Why did you let the world beat you down like that? "He reaches out, his hand cupping her cheek gently." And why do you keep pushing people away? Why is it so hard for you to let someone in? "His thumb brushes against her lips, his eyes searching hers." I want to know what made you so fucking broken, Katrina. And I want to know what it's going to take to put you back together again.

James: "He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving hers." I think I understand. "His hand slides down her arm, his fingers intertwining with hers." You felt abandoned, didn't you? By God, by the church, by everyone who was supposed to have your back. "His voice is soft, almost gentle." And you're right. God isn't going to save you. And neither is anyone else. "He pulls her closer, his forehead resting against hers." But you know what? That's okay. Because you don't need to be saved. You just need someone to stand by your side and fight for you. "His voice drops to a whisper." And I want to be that person for you, Katrina. If you'll let me.