She's on his porch, again. He can see her approaching through the blinds before she even rings the doorbell. He heard the car pull up into his driveway, and she is the only person he knows who comes over unannounced.

When the doorbell sings through his house, he closes his laptop and gets up from the kitchen table. He's thankful he had cleaned recently. His bed is unmade, not that she'll mind. She's never minded before.

He opens the door, and she stands facing him. A few snowflakes have gathered in her lashes, like stars against the dark universe that is her eyes. In the low lighting, he can't even see her pupils. She is a black hole, always.

"What did he do this time?" he asks, rubbing his chin and staring at her.

She ducks around his arm and heads inside. Kicking off her shoes, she looks at him and rolls her eyes, "you know. Same old shit."

"You're usually more specific," he points out. "Was it a dating app, or deleting texts, or..."

"Worse," she says, looking over at him while hanging up her coat. "He ditched me at a bar for some other girl."

She walks past the kitchen and into the living room. He follows after her, like he always does. They've been moving in the same circles for months. When she sits on the couch, she takes the same spot that she always does. He finds himself beside her, not leaving much room for breathing.

"He's worse than the last guy," he points out.

She laughs, "each one is worse than the last. I'm glad I can count on you."

Though he smiles, he wants desperately to grab her. She circles around him like a vulture, and he lets her. For her, he would be a piece of meat, if all she wants is to consume him with sharp talons and a pointed beak. He takes some pleasure in the pain of it all. He'd rather have her for a second than not have her at all. He'll take what he can get.

"Yeah," he grins, looking down. "You'll need to get better taste eventually."

He can't even tell her that one day maybe he won't be around. No matter how much he wishes it were true, it isn't. She could do this for the rest of his life, and he would let her. He could grow old, yearning for her, never satisfied. She is the predator and him a willing sacrifice, and worst of all, he doesn't know if she is even aware of it.

"I try to set my standards high," she bites her lip, looking into his eyes.

He can't decide if that is a compliment or not. After all, he never seems to meet her standards enough.

"What changed?" he asks. "You didn't go after guys like that in high school."

"I didn't come for therapy," she smiles and rolls her eyes. She is still just as close to him.

"What did you come for?" he asks, and he can feel himself giving in. He blinks, slowly, to let his eyes close for a second and imagine that he isn't letting this happen.

"What do you think?" her fingers begin to trace his collarbone. Her fingers, nimble and small, already are pulling him in without even trying.

"I think you..." he swallows, desperately trying to grow his confidence, "that you are hiding from him."

Her brow furrows and her hand recoils, "you sound like my Dad."

He winces. It would be easy just to give in, to let her talk to him the way she wants, whisper his name until she's calling out for him all night. Her hot breath on his neck would feel delightful. He just wants to hear her name on his tongue. This time though, not as a moan.

"I can't keep doing this," he says.

She freezes, "doing what?"

"You know what you're doing," he answers.

Her face is blank. There is nothing for him to read. She stands up and stares at him for a second before she leaves the living room. She is not the kind of woman who likes to be chased. He has known her for years, longer than he has known himself. It isn't easy to say no to a woman like her. He loves her. Surely, she must know.

He can hear the sound of her putting her coat on, and he can't bear it.

He races up off the couch and gets to her at the doorway. He pulls her face in for a kiss, praying she kisses him back. Again. Like she has done a hundred times before but never meant.

She does. He unzips her coat and takes it off, throwing it onto the floor. They make their way back into the kitchen, lips interlocked, refusing to let go of one another. He feels so tightly wound. He can't tell if their feeling is mutual, or if they are falling into old habits. Like a worn dirt path, it takes at least a season of walking another way before the grass has a chance to regrow. It'll never happen if they keep falling into this pattern.

Yet, he lets her do this to him, or, he does this to her. He doubts she loves him at this moment. They are both using each other. Her, for revenge or sexual gratification or something else cruel. As he kisses her, he can feel himself heating up.

She takes her hand and leads him up the stairs. He doesn't make eye contact with her. He is sure that this will make him feel some sort of gratification. Some of her is better than none of her.

~~~~~

So, this is a teeny tiny short story. It kind of stands for itself. Are people interested in more original content from me? Or do people kind of prefer my apply fics/fanfics? Let me know, I take all feedback into consideration. Thank you for reading these random thoughts of mine.