Once again, I don't think I like this one, but I feel it accompanies the other one quite nicely.

Thanks to Lyny Angell for being my [only] reviewer. Yays.

Crutch

She never had any illusions about the way he saw her. He used her to forget the pain, the killing, the death. He fucked her too erase all the pain, if for just one night. She had never, and would never, call what they did in this god-forsaken desert 'making love.' Another time, another place perhaps, but they were murderers here. Murderers weren't allowed to love.

He took it a lot worse than she did, which didn't surprise her. He had always had a certain childlike innocence about him, and that had been mercilessly stamped out, corrupted and morphed into self-pity. It was a lot easier for her to take; she had never held mankind in such a light, having been ignored and made into her father's own personal chalkboard. No, she knew that mankind was fickle, so the transition into monsterhood hadn't had nearly the effect on her as it did him. He had this strange illusion that he was the worst demon in this hell, but she knew better. He was always at the front, always the one to sweep through with his waves of destruction, and never had to see the aftermath. Never had to see the soldiers who would toss infants into the air to catch them on their bayonets, never had to see the soldiers who placed bets on who could kill the most civilians in the least time, never had to listen to the soldiers discuss kills that they were proud of.

She had, and like the good little sniper she was, she could only let it happen.

She had used him too dull the pain once, but that was all she needed. But she still used him, if only in her own selfish way. Where he used her like some sort of drug, she used him as a crutch. An outside force to fill a part of her that wasn't there. The fact that he came to her, and only her, gave her some sort of twisted self confidence. She knew that she wasn't attractive, but he called her beautiful. She reveled in the attention he gave her.

It gave her a sense of purpose, and because of that she had devoted her being to him. She would do anything for him, including happily letting him lose himself in her on the nights when it was just too much. He had though that he was betraying her trust but really it was quite the opposite. The way he relied on her, the way he acknowledged her had gained her unbreakable loyalty and adoration.

Now I'm done with this and can pretend that it never happened.