The Wheel Breaks The Butterfly

"Okay so what the hell is up with people on the blogs?" I blinked and looked up to see Skye descending angrily down the stairs. "I mean at first it was fine but now it's just annoying."

"It's entertainment I guess. Or maybe they're hoping on a Slender Man version of Romeo and Juliet. I really couldn't care less," I sighed as I carried the vase of black roses over to the sink and refilled the water. I don't give two shits if they're from Smiley, they're pretty and they smell nice.

"It doesn't bother you?" Skye asked.

I chuckled and shook my head as I put the vase back where it was. "You act like this is the first time I've had people try to play match-maker with me." I smirked over at Skye as I hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter; he had a confused look on his face. "I did happen to go through middle school and freshman year before all this happened."

"W-well they could at least tone it down," he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. The turkey comment from Chris - while clever and seasonally inappropriate enough to be funny - was a bit over the line. But I can't really blame them..." I shrugged.

"I guess you have a point..." Skye trailed off as he leaned on the counter across from me.

"I generally do, if only people listen." I chuckled again before sighing. "Besides," I paused, wondering how I should phrase my next sentence. "It's not like anyone could really find me attractive anyway," I shrugged.

"W-what do you m-mean Tori?!" Skye asked, a bit louder and more flustered than before. His face was starting to flush up.

I have a dry chuckle. "Have you seen my skin?" I gave him a hard stare while I uncrossed and recrossed my legs. Since that sparring match I had taken to wearing shorts and tank-tops around the house like usual. "Like I said before, you'd be hard pressed to find a square inch of me that isn't scarred. How the hell can anyone be attracted to that? God knows I'm not and I'm the one who has to look at myself in the mirror every damn day! So how could..." I trailed off and averted my gaze to the floor. I noticed that I had been yelling and I felt like I was going to cry again. I pushed back the tears - now was not the time to cry.

"B-but you're wrong!" Skye exclaimed. I looked up at him to see that he was blushing worse than before. But, he had a determined look in his eyes that I hadn't really seen much of. When he noticed I was looking at him his face turned the colour of the tomato that was sitting on the counter next to him. "I a-actually th-think you're r-really p-pretty," he mumbled, staring at the floor.

I stared at him for a few seconds before heaving myself off of the counter and landing lightly on the kitchen floor. "Thanks, but I don't need your pity."

"I-it's n-not pity!" I looked up at  him, surprised to see that he was looking straight at me. "I-I don't care if y-you have a-a thousand s-scars or none! I th-think that you're a g-good pers-"

"I am not a good person! I killed a runner that was your age or younger the other night! I offered to kill runners without blogs to -"

"So you wouldn't have to kill me! Now will you be realistic about-?!"

"I am bein fuckin realistic Skye so just shut the fuck up and save your pity cause I don' wanna fuckin hear it alrigh'?! The only fuckin reason someone'd look at me twice is cause I look like I got dragged outta a wreck, not cause I'm pretty! So just stop talkin and realize that!"

Silence hung heavy in the air. I had been moving closer to him as I yelled and now I was right in his face. It was then that I noticed that I had one of my throwing knives in my hand. I took a step back and dropped it. The clatter it made sounded too loud to me. "I-I'm sorry," I whispered as I stared at the ground.

"I-is that r-really how you f-feel about yours-self?" I heard Skye ask.

"Yeah, it is. I hate myself, and I have good reason to-"

"No you don't," he quietly asserted. I looked up to see that his face was still flushed, but he looked confident. "You're only doing what you are out of necessity right? A-and I d-don't care what you th-think. I think you're p-pretty." He gave me a tentative smile. I half-smiled back.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," I apologized, looking up at him.

"You get a weird accent when you're angry," he blurted out randomly, and then blushed when he realized he had said that out loud.

I stepped back and put a hand to my mouth in an attempt to force back my laughter. "That's the Bal'more accent," I smirked. "Usually when people hear that coming out of my mouth they fear for their lives."

Skye chuckled and shook his head.  "Well I don't really care. I um... I s-still th-think you're p-pretty s-so..." His face flushed up again and he looked down at the ground.

"I still think you're pitying me you know," I shrugged and bent down to pick up the throwing knife. "But I think that's just because I hate myself, not because I don't believe that you truly think that." I returned the knife to my pocket.

"W-well I d-do th-think that!" he asserted, his face red again. He was still staring at the ground.

"Hey," I said softly, "Look at me." Slowly, he complied. "Thank you," I smiled.

"A-any t-t-time," he mumbled.

"I'd give you a hug, but I'd rather not you pass out on my kitchen floor," I gave a small laugh.

"Y-yeah. Th-that would be b-bad..." He laughed nervously. I smiled at him again before I waked over to the stairs.

"I think I'm gonna go read for the rest of the night. Sorry in advance if I wake you up in the middle of the night again. But you can leave me be if you want, it's probably a hassle-"

"Tori." Skye cut me off. "I-I want to h-help you so i-it's fine."

"If you say so," I shrugged as I walked up the stairs. Once I got up there I remembered something. "Oh and Skye?" I called down the stairs.

"Yeah?"

"If we have turkey any time soon I will not be amused."