Weak

It was raining outside and the wind blew cold, howling as it passed through trees and between buildings. It was the kind of night where you wanted to be inside, wrapped in a blanket, watching a good movie with a loved one. You want to be wrapped in warm arms... pressed against a warm body.
Dominique lay stretched out on top of the rumpled covers of Marcus' bed. A cigarette hung loosely from her lips, unlit, because she knew how much Marcus hated the smell of cigarette smoke. It was a strange thing, though. He hated the smell of cigarettes but loved the way she smelled. Her perfume. Her hair. Her skin. He often thought about how odd it was that no matter how much or how recently she had smoked that she herself always smelled sweet, like a flower.
His gaze moved along her body- from her long legs all the way to her glossy lips... and then his mind moved to how she also never seemed to taste of cigarettes either. It seemed impossible... but a wonderful surprise each and every time he kissed her.
Knowing fully well that he'd have to wash all the fabrics in his room later to remove the smokey smell, he handed her his lighter. He bought it when he was thirteen because his best friend, Grav, was always forgetting his... and because, for a reason he had long forgotten, he felt comforted by having a light source with him at all times.
She took it, lit the cigarette, and handed it back without saying a word. Her fingers were cold.
She took a few puffs and then held up the cigarette to take a long look at it.
"It doesn't help any. I don't feel any calmer or anything."
"Sorry." Marcus replied, not knowing why he was apologizing. She didn't say anything to that, but instead merely shifted uncomfortably which he took to mean she was sorry too. She would never come out and say she was sorry. Come to think of it, she was never one to say 'please' or 'thank you' either. But she always said "i love you" and so he forgave her for those other trivial things. On top of that, the sight of her wearing only his t-shirt with her hair still wet from the rain was making it increasingly difficult to stay mad at her for anything. She always had that effect on him. That weakening affect.
He kept trying to figure out what to say next but his mind remained blank in the quiet calm that came after the a storm of arguing and yelling at each other. He knew she would find the words soon enough though. It always went that way.
"I don't know how he does that to me," she began in soft, almost pained, tones. "That dirtbag. He treated me like crap when we were together but... sometimes... when i see him and he says all those sweet things to me i...i go all weak. And then he touches me... and the way.."
"Do you want to go back to him?" Marcus interrupted... partly because she was beginning to venture into things he didn't care to hear.
She sat up suddenly.
"No! I don't want that!" She moved closer to him, approaching from behind and resting her head on his shoulder. "You're my baby. I love you, Marcus. As soon as i got my head on straight i was out of there and running, RUNNING to you." She smiled a bit and Marcus could tell from the subtle shift of her head on his shoulder. "Even as drunk as i was i found my way here no problem. I can always find my way to you."
It was cheesy... SO cheesy...but she was wrapping her arms around him and his thoughts were sliding away from him.
He caught one.
"I don't think i can keep doing this."
"What? Why?" she asked, while her hands slide smoothly over his torso. "Don't you see? No matter what i will always come back to you." she pressed her lips to his ear and a shiver ran through his body. "You're the only one i want. Your hands..your lips.."
Images of kissing her slid their way into his mind. He moved to get up off of the bed but she felt him shift and pulled him closer, kissing his neck. He felt his mind clouding and tried to focus. He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic sound of the raindrops. It amazed him how close the rhythm was to that of her breathing. Her heartbeat.
"Don't you want me anymore?" She pulled him closer, pressing herself against him and he was reminded that she wasn't wearing anything under his t-shirt. He was losing composure. Thinking about things that he was trying desperately not to focus on. Thinking about how she felt, how she moved in his arms... how she made things go away...
Light shining through raindrop covered windows made beautiful shapes on the ceiling and walls as they sank slowly into the matress. He didn't think about how she hadn't said she was sorry. How she never would. Part of him resigned itself to knowing that this was just the way things were with her.
He was starting to get used to it.