The night started like every other—your voices sharp, venomous, daring the other to snap first. Rafe was already bleeding from his knuckles when he shoved you against the sink so hard it cracked. You felt the porcelain split under your spine and laughed through clenched teeth.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” you spat, and your fist connected with his cheekbone so hard it split skin. The spray of blood hit your face. His head snapped to the side, but he didn’t back down. He turned, grabbed you by the jaw, and slammed his forehead into yours. The world rang. Warmth trickled down your face—your own blood mixing with his.

You clawed down his chest, tearing open skin. He let out a ragged laugh as red welts bloomed across him, dripping down his ribs. He caught your arm, twisted until your shoulder screamed, and shoved you onto the floor. You gasped when his knee pressed into your chest, crushing the air out of you.

“Say you hate me,” he growled, spit and blood dripping from his mouth onto yours.

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed, then bit into his shoulder until you tasted the copper flood of him. He roared and backhanded you across the mouth. Your lip split, teeth cutting into flesh—hot metallic taste spilling over your tongue. You spat it at him.

That pushed him over. His hands closed around your throat, squeezing until the edges of your vision dimmed. But you smiled even then, nails sinking into his forearms, tearing him open until he let go. Both of you panted, drenched in sweat and blood.

You grabbed the broken shard of porcelain from the sink and slashed it across his side. He snarled, shoved you so hard your head cracked against the wall. For a second you were gone, dizzy, but when he leaned over you—bleeding, shaking, eyes wild—you pulled him down by his hair and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It was teeth on teeth, mouths colliding, blood smearing between your lips. You both groaned into it, bodies trembling not from love but from the thrill of destruction.

When the cops dragged you two apart that night, you were half-conscious, bruised ribs grinding every time you breathed. Rafe was covered in crimson, shirt stuck to him, eyes still locked on you like you were his last lifeline.

At the hospital, the doctors stitched you up in silence, horrified by the carnage you’d done to each other. But you didn’t care. Later, when Rafe sneaked into your room, IVs still dripping into your veins, he leaned over your bed, bloody bandages on his side.

“You and me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, “we’ll ruin each other until there’s nothing left.”

And you smiled, tasting the dried blood still cracked across your lips.

“Good.”