Authors Note: I tried out a different style of writing something, so it might be a bit strange. I'd love feedback on it to see what you think.

I think this is better in 1/2 view.

Her name is Madeleine, but everyone including herself calls her Maddie.
She has picture perfect features in her doll-like face and she is skinny and ash-blonde and tall and not at all happy with anything that is her.

She hates her hair, it’s too flat and too boring and she wishes she had the guts to cut it short and make it the color of the sky or a sunset or a wild flower, but she could never do that.

She hates her nose, the way it’s really flat but goes a bit up at the tip; it’s almost like a pig’s nose.

She hates how skinny she is and how people are always saying how she looks like a skeleton behind her back and how it sometimes, just sometimes, feels like her ribs are sharp enough to protrude her skin and make her bleed. She’s convinced herself it’ll happen someday.

She hates her lips, the way they’re too thin and too small and almost always chapped since she never remembers to buy that lip balm, and the way that they instinctively kiss back whenever someone makes the first move.

She hates her own mind, the way it always keeps making dark downwards spirals and how it’s flooded by haze that makes the world seem far off and surreal and like a place she cannot reach.

She hates her body, all the imperfections and the birthmark on her ankle and the freckles on her cheeks and her too short fingers and not-pretty toes.

And lastly there is the part of herself she hates the most; her eyes. They’re large, ocean-turquoise and so expressive that every single emotion she has shows all too well and when she cries the tears are large like a crocodile’s. She hates them because of that, and because he keeps getting lost in them, and she has to help him find his way back to the surface again even if all she wants is to let him drown in the ocean of her soul.

She hates everything about herself, there are more things than those on her list, and she hates life. No, that’s not completely true. She doesn’t hate life, she hates living, dying and that whole lot of it – life itself is not so bad though, not to most people.

They’re sitting on her bed, girl and boy, realist and dreamer, friend and lover. He leans towards her and she cannot pull away – she just can’t say no. She wants this so much, but for selfish reasons, and she wishes it weren’t so. He wants her, emotionally and physically, but she only wants his body for her pleasure. She wants him to pull her out of loneliness and pain and make her forget how much she really hates herself for just one night.

His lips land on hers and hers respond as she knew they would to the gentle touch, deepening the kiss as his hands find the sides of her face and her arms find their way round his neck. She pulls him closer and moves her snow-white hands down his muscled frame to get a hold of his shirt so that she can pull it off of him to reveal his perfect body, such a sight for sore eyes.

He knows just as well as her what she is doing, that he is just a toy, but this moment he couldn’t care less. Once he has claimed her for his own things will be different, he thinks to himself. Once I’ve marked you you’ll realize that you feel the same way. As she leans back and pulls him on top of her malnourished figure his hands move from her face and to her clothing. He undresses her quickly, passion blinding his eyes to anything other than the act of love which they will be doing tonight, and soon she is wearing nothing but her black lace panties and the necklace that he gave her for her last birthday. A small silver heart.

She thinks of that heart as she unbuttons his pants and wonders if she’ll always be just silver – just second best – as she unzips them. He kicks them off and sends them flying to the floor, and soon they both also rid themselves of the only garments still separating them and their bodies merge and their souls touch and their cries for intimacy and closeness are answered.

For tonight this is perfect, a distraction for them both from what they really feel, but for tomorrow this will add to the mountain of troubles casting shadows upon them. The will grow to hate this night, but who cares when it has already served its purpose?

If a melancholy girl hates herself just a little more, who cares?
If a lonely boy is just a little more alone, who will notice?

The night is for love and the day for the feelings that follow, so don’t ever let the darkness go, girl. Don’t let the black silence that surrounds you ever fade, because then you’ll see all the things that you are afraid might be hiding out there so much more clearly, boy.

Nights are for love, days for resentment, and life is but an anathema when all you really want is to escape.

Authors Note: If you made it to the end, thanks for reading! I will give you cyber-cookies if you tell me what you think. =)