Author's Note: Hey guys!I wrote another story that my mother will not be proud of if she sees =) Pleas rate and review! Thank you for supporting me *wipes tear* you are all soo nice =D

I watch you standing there. You don't know I'm watching you, but you feel my stare consuming your body. You look up, casually brushing your eyes over everyone in the room. Your eyes then land on me. You seem hesitant, afraid, fake. I know who you really are, what you really are trapped beneath your layer of feigned personality. You also know I know when you look into my eyes. I stand there watching you, daring you to make a move. You seem to be doing the same.

Now you're walking away. I'm not upset or angry. I don't like you because you're just like me. Fake, counterfeit, broken. You act like you love life, but I know you have nothing to live for. You came back, this time showing up behind me. Your eyes are icy blue, piercing into my soul. Your one look causes you to know the real me. I'm a poser, just like you, but you seem to know that already. You're standing next to me. "Come with me" you say quietly.

What makes you think I'll follow? How can I trust you?

But I do.

I follow you without a word.

He leads me toward the back of the mountainous building. There's no one here. Only the two of us. I want to ask, "What are you going to do to me?" but my voice betrays me. I am afraid of him. He's just like me, that is why I'm afraid. I stand in front of him, staring into his face. I am caked between him and the building, though none are touching me. He stands in front of me, looking around, making sure no one is here to witness his next move. He finally turns toward me. I look up at him while he looks down at me. I know what he will do next, he's telling me with his thirsty eyes. He's giving me a warning to run if I wish to do so. But I don't wish to do that. I want him to do what he is planning to do to me.

He stares into my eyes for one more moment before he pushes me against the wall with my shoulders and attaches his lips to mine. A moan escapes my lips and he pushes his tongue into my mouth. I need him to stop. I hate him. I hate him because he is just like me. Fake, counterfeit, broken- just like me. He continues to explore my mouth with his tongue, seeking refuge. I feel his hands crawl over my body, feeling my hips and waist. I continue to moan as he heads for the buttons on my jeans.

He pushes my jeans and underwear down together and pulls up my shirt and bra, breaking our lip contact for a brief moment. He just exposed everything of myself to him. He looks into my soul; his cold blue eyes express confidence. He turns me around and pushes me against the wall again, this time my back against his chest. I hear him unzip his jeans and push them down. He's pulling a condom on himself, I can hear the box being ripped open. He wraps his arms around my body and rests his hands on my breasts. He softly plays with my nipples as he slowly pushes himself inside of me. I moan and groan due to the pain and pleasure. He stays still for about two minutes, waiting for me to be used to him. All the while, he kisses the base of my neck,slowly going around to y collar bone. I instinctively pull my head onto his shoulder, suddenly feeling a need to be supported.

I push myself against him, telling him to hurry and he begins to pump himself inside of me. I begin to moan, not being able to hold them in. He whispers to be quiet, but I cannot do that. I have nothing to stifle my voice. Knowing this, he attaches his lips to mine and I moan inside of him. His hand resumes its previous position and he continues to pump into me. I hate him, but I love what he is doing to me. I love the way he is holding me and the feelings he is arousing inside of me. My thighs and hips scratch against the red brick wall while he finds his rhythmic patterns.

He suddenly stops, lets go of my breasts and pulls my right leg up. He places his arm underneath it, pushing against the wall. He begins to go faster and deeper with this new position; I begin to moan louder. I hold onto his waist, my nails scathing his soft flesh. He continues at his rapid speed until I cannot take it anymore. I scream into our open-mouthed kiss and convulse around him, which causes him to groan into me. He becomes limp and pushes against me and I push against the wall. We lay there, panting deeply. He slowly places my leg back onto stable ground and pulls out of me. He hasn't moved his other hand yet, but I'm not complaining. He continues to palm my breast as he allows his other hand to join. Small whimpers escape me due to his touch. I turn to face him only to find him smiling. He lets go of me and pulls my shirt up off the floor, as well as my bra, and hands them to me. I begin to dress myself while he does the same.

I turn myself around, looking up at him. He pulls up his jeans, as well as my own, and pulls himself close to me. He attaches his lips to mine and for the first time in a long while, I am happy. I am happy because of him. He is fake, counterfeit and broken, just like me. I love him because he is just like me.