She remembers now

She hates him.

Her knuckles show white through her pale skin, partially hidden beneath the blood caking them. Blood? Did she hit that hard? She must've lost count of the times her fists connected with his jaw, his nose, his chest, the wall, the pavement.

Red, the color of her hair and eyes, trickling down her hands and down her chin because he too is not a bad fighter and he has a nasty right hook. She tries to remember what caused this destruction.

They were at a party or something. Yes, she thinks that's it. A party. She was bored because she knew no one there and left early, meeting him on the way outside. And then it went like it always does. He says something and she says something in return, teasing and taunting turns serious, and that's when it starts to get physical. Sometimes she kicks him, sometimes she slaps him, sometimes he hits her, sometimes her kicks her.

Today it was different. He was different. He didn't go by script, he didn't play along like he ought to do. The throbbing inside her head is terrible and her knees give in. Still she tries to sort out the jumbled mess inside, rearranges memories so that they make sense again. Today he walked up to her on purpose, he skipped the introduction, skipped the taunting, teasing part. Of course, she remembers now, he claimed to hate her. She'd been too distracted by his proximity and the strange look in his amethyst eyes to notice the fist clenching at his side while his other hand grabbed the front of her shirt. If everything had been normal, he would've told her how it looks ridiculous that her sleeves are neither short nor long and that her shirt has a high collar to hide as much ugly skin as possible. And she would've retorted that he looks just as stupid with his sleeveless, purple shirt with the high collar. Would have. If.

With trembling hands she reaches for her glasses. Glass shards pierce her skin as she blindly feels around on the pavement, telling her that at least one lens shattered. The world becomes clearer as the spectacles are back in place and the blob of color opposite from her takes the form of Suigetsu.

He's catching his breath, regaining sense of direction, of balance. Stains of red blemishing some strands of his light grey hair, his bottom lip split and bleeding, arms adorned with scratches, bruises turning vicious shades of red. Somehow he never looked better to her.

A cough forces her to double over, pain racing through her body from one limp to another, never at the same place. When she raises her head, she can see those strange eyes of his behind the bangs. They are trained on her shaking form and again she believes she sees that strange glint in his eyes. For a fraction of a second, there is something like genuine affection, love even inside those orbs, before they return to their hate-filled, dull state.

A hallucination? The dim light of the street lamp casts many confusion, fooling shadows and her eyesight is blurred by the fractured lenses and her tears of pain.

Why would she care? Why is she making up excuses why he couldn't have looked at her like that? Is it because he is her enemy?

Suigetsu is the most horrible person she ever set her eyes on. God created a person like him, a grotesque entity consisting of all features she hates, just to spite her, to make her go insane. A lazy, whiny, stupid jerk. A retard, a bastard, a jerk, an asshole. So many words to describe this one person.

But as she observes him from her spot, leaning against the wall for support, she notes that he is handsome. And that the sight of his battered and bruised body stirs a warm feeling inside of her, mixed with pity because someone like him shouldn't lie in an alley way looking like that. Her clouded brain is in emergency state, sending false impulses to her body, she justifies the sudden urge to reach out for him. She fights it, fights it all, and despite herself finds herself failing as things unravel.

They met a few months ago, at a party or something. Yes, she thinks that's it. A party. She was bored because she knew no one there and left early, meeting him on the way outside. He made some stupid comment about her dress and her make-up, resulting in her screaming at him and storming off. After that, they bumped into each other everywhere. School, supermarket, the movies, she was nowhere safe from him.

And every time they met, her obsession with him grew stronger. It wasn't one of those silly school-girl obsessions with their crush like Sakura has it, like Hinata has it, like all the girls have it; she was obsessed with him because she hated him. He invaded her mind, wormed his way into her dreams. When he wasn't around, she would wait for him to come. He infuriated her, and before she knew it, Suigetsu had become the only person who could provoke feelings of anger from her. He knew what made her tick and she knew what annoyed him the most.

That was hatred, wasn't it?

She focused all her energy on this hostility instead of her non-existent love life. Before she knew it, she fell for him. She'd look forward to their meetings (she'd look forward to it, look forward, but never missing him), she would put only little force in her kicks and punches and she would hope he'd one day do the same, secretly wishing he would, could feel the same.

But that is sick and twisted and simply wrong. That's why this something in his eyes couldn't be love and the little something in her chest couldn't be love.

Her body moves with a great effort and waves of pain numb her palms as she crawls towards him, not quite trusting her legs to carry her weight. Her nail polish looks black and the sleeves of her shirt are torn.

A puppet on a string, that's what she is. Invisible ties guide her towards this person, forcing her to see right into his face. Despite his situation, there is still the faint trace of that arrogant smirk on his lips, daring her, beckoning her to try to hurt him.

Fingertips brush his hair out of his eyes, tucking some of it behind his ears. What is she doing? She doesn't know anymore. With carefulness, she wipes away the blood emerging from his wounds on his face. Leaning back, she inspects her handiwork. She cannot sew the split skin together again, this way people will stop asking questions though. He looks better now.

His words startle her, a disruption from the monotone sounds of their ragged breathing. Why did you do that, Karin? he asks, nothing like his usual proud self. Suigetsu doesn't call her Karin usually. She explains People will want to know why there's blood on your face, Suigetsu. Karin doesn't call him Suigetsu usually.

She follows his movements with her wine-red blood-red eyes, watching in slow motion as his hand touches the abused flesh of her cheek, returning the favor, erasing the . Last he removes the last remainder of her cherry lip-gloss and the dried blood with his thumb, lingering there for a second. Pain replaced by a tingling sensation she refuses to acknowledge.

Karin hates how his touch feels. She hates how his eyes crinkle in amusement almost unnoticeable at her reaction. ...does she?

Sitting on the pavement in some dark alley way, they keep silent and she takes in her own damage. Bruises cover legs and arms, especially the wrists. So you hate me truly, she mutters under her breath, smiling bitterly at the thought. He heard her. Maybe I should rephrase myself, he says in this obnoxious cocky tone he always uses with her, I hate everything about you.

How dare he rub it in? Her anger flares up again, but mind and body are too exhausted to respond anymore. So do I, she spits out, hoping it destroys him as much his words destroy her. The next thing she knows is that his head is closer now, she can see her image reflecting in his eyes if she concentrates, their breaths mingle. She doesn't question how he managed to move so fast.

The kiss tastes like salt and sweat and blood, she realizes before the information that they're kissing sinks in. The taste is disgusting, she hates it. But she craves more, more, more, until there is nothing left. Because those are Suigetsu's lips against hers.

They break apart after only seconds of connecting and they laugh about how this was certainly a lame kiss. So they try again. All sense of reason and pride shut down.

He can't move his arms any longer and her legs are useless, so they abuse each other as support. The pair sways a little and the ground seems alarmingly close. Where are we going? she laughs as he almost trips over his own two feet, hatred and love forgotten in the heat of the moment for the sake of her sanity.

We'll buy some bandages and disinfectant, the wounds are not something everyone should see, he says and once more they stumble forward, towards the lone street lamp. You asshole, because of you my legs will be covered with ugly bruises! she whines and frowns at the idea of having blobs of brown and yellow on her porcelain skin. Who would want to look at your ugly legs anyway? He taunts, Who besides me?

Her nails dig into his shoulder as her brain processes the words' meaning. I can still love you, even though you are everything I ever hated, he adds a little quieter, as if unsure if those words should be heard by her. Thousands of bad-tempered butterflies try to make their way out of her stomach and for a moment she fears they'll rip her open. This was not the kind of confession she always hoped for as a little naïve girl, yet she doesn't complain because it suits them better than anything else he could've said.

The guy in the drug store stares at them, but they don't care about how they must look like to him as they pay for the products.

Little do they know that this was the last time they beat each other up, the last time she says she hates him and the last time he says she is ugly.

The chilling fluorescent light from the store's lamps makes his hair appear silver and the dull purple of his eyes becomes a gleaming violet. All of a sudden she remembers the other times, the other times they didn't scream at one another and the times she fell for him all over again.

She remembers now.

She loves him.

This...I can't really explain this one. Every time Suigetsu and Karin appear in my fanfics, they just seem to always beat each other up T_T Believe it or not, SuiKa is one of my favorite pairings ever.
Originally written for the Love-Hate contest of FC-SuiKa on deviantart, this is loosely based on the song I hate everything about you by Three Days Grace, even though I was listening mostly to The Birthday Massacre's "Shiver".