Soured Milk, 4

It's an absolute fucking shit-hole.

And I've seen (and lived in) my share of shitty apartments, so believe me when I say my standards are set reasonably low. His apartment was completely empty, if not for a large, mustard colored two-seater that stood awkwardly in the center of the room; an assortment of multicolored patches decorated its buttery leather, and curious stains that I convinced myself were from spilled drinks (they, of course, were not). The carpeting; a bright, orange spectacle with a matted, waxy texture to it and a scent that could only be described as a mixture of wet socks, cough syrup, and cheap, citrusy cologne.

It was an absolute fucking shit-hole, and maybe that shouldn't have come as a surprise, because he was a human piece of shit himself, but he was such a breathtakingly beautiful piece of shit that it was almost a shame he lived in such a place. Almost.

"Oi, Min," he called, stretching his limbs over the sofa, "Come and sit on my lap, will you? I have a story for you."

 I frowned, staring up at him as he playfully wiggled his eye-brows, "You took it too far."

I was about to roll away to the other side when he planted his foot on my shoulder and turned me back towards him, "Don't be like that."

"You took it too far!"

"And I said I was sorry." he yawned, sounding so insincere that it was almost enough to make me get up and leave. Almost.

"You promised you wouldn't do that again."

He sighed, lifting his foot off my shoulder and sinking into the sofa, "And you promised you wouldn't be a fucking cunt."

It's times like these that I'm reminded of just how much of a mistake this whole thing was. I knew I was straying dangerously far from the tracks, but he made it so easy, so tempting, that I couldn't possibly resist wandering further away. He had a strange kind of appeal to him, like his shitty apartment; a certain beauty in every crooked angle and dull edge. And he was all crooked angles and dull edges, but he never tried to hide it, wearing them on his chest like badges of honor. And whenever he looked at me, his eyes, they'd fall on my deepest insecurities, as if to say, "I see you."

And nothing in the world terrified me more than my reflection in his eyes.