His twisted smile I know so well.
There’s nothing else he does which is quite like it.
Not the glint in his eye, nor the tone of smug self-satisfaction in his voice.
The casual ease of his walk and the arrogance of his presence do not compare to that beautifully twisted smile.

The intimacy of his half-whispered false promises in my ear, falter in comparison to that twisted smile of his, along with the rest of that delightful band of tormenting words he hurried to press in to my head.

Because in that twisted smile is everything I didn’t want to want to see. That twisted smile which imprints itself in my mind; an assurance just compelling enough for me to want to know more.
Because it’s his beautifully twisted smile which twists my heart strings in to knots; and it’s that beautifully twisted smile which keeps me twisted around his little finger; and it’s that same beautifully, beautifully twisted smile which I sit across from now.



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