AN: And my first Kevin fic is a dark one. Go figure. This stupid song just wouldn't leave me alone. Its called "You Make Me Feel Like a Whore"... cheery huh? That's old school Everclear for ya! =) Just a very important note- this in NO way reflects reality or my idea of it. I have utter respect for all the guys and their significant others. Whoever they may be. End of story, err, well here's the beginning of it, okay? I'll stop rambling now... ************************************ Whore ************************************ *I take your word like it was gospel I'm so eager to please Yeah I like it when You talk to me* His voice, god I've always loved his voice. It is better than a mere bass, different; it can slither and slide until it curls inside the pit of my stomach and make me yearn for him like a fish does water or a bird air. Even from the beginning I had been his in every possible way. I am not a weak woman but it hadn't taken much. A long stare from his too green, surreal eyes and a whisper of movement, his fingers warm along the small of my back, a firm unyielding grip when we first met, and the steady rumble of his voice. I was his from so early on it is frightening cause, even now, I don't know if he's really mine. *It feels so good Inside your shadow; It's the place I need to be Yeah you know I need to climb You like a tree* Am I like Leighanne? I've seen the web sites too, the hate mail, the whispers and rumors. That we were simply convenienance. That any love me might have died long ago between his many infidelities and my career grasping. We have never been perfect but we've always been good together. And hell, maybe Kevin Richardson has never loved me, and me, hell, I don't even know if I've ever known what love is, but, if I did, I'd love him. What is love anymore with all the abuse and divorces and lawyers and screaming children being dragged from foster home to foster home anyway? Maybe you don't have to love someone enough to die for them, maybe you just have to love them enough to live with them. Maybe all that matters is that you can love them enough to forgive, forget, and pretend not to see what should never happen. I may not be an angel but Kevin Richardson is hardly a saint. *There is this place inside Where all the good things die Sometimes I feel like a whore Sometimes I feel like a whore* And I wear his ring and I am his wife, his god damn wife, his other half in the eyes of church, family, and state. But I know I'm just the blonde he decided didn't have to go home. I'm the one way ticket upgraded to round trip and first class. I'm a trophy wife without a trophy. Some days, no matter how different I tell myself it is, I feel like a hooker in Chanel. *I hate the way I am around you I'm so nervous and weird Sometimes I feel like I'm Breathing underwater* Our lives are so weird I don't know what to call them sometimes. Between the tours and tabloids and even behind closed doors... Even in my husband's arms I cry sometimes. Am I good enough for him? Is he good enough for me? The difference is that Kevin cares; I don't. I don't care if he brings me to my ruin. I'll be his until I'm dead and buried. It doesn't mean I don't hate him for it sometimes. Doesn't mean I don't resent him for intruding upon my heart and not seeming to care in the slightest that he can turn my world upside down. Some of these nights I love him so fiercely it hurts, and hate him so harshly I want to die, want to be buried, cause its so damn surreal sometimes. Like I'm on the outside looking in. Sometimes I want to be there though, and I never want to go back. I never want to be the sad, beautifully blonde woman on the arm of a man who can make her cry and smile at the same time. *You treat me like I am on fire Like I'm something to eat You make me hate what I see When I see me* He's so damn arrogant he makes me want to scream. So right he makes me bleed deep inside myself, a secret hurt to nurse and waste away from. I'd kill for him. Walk through fire for him. Lay my life down for him. Have on so many levels I'm already almost dead inside. *Yeah I dream of the day When I learn how to make you pay Someday I'll teach you to beg Some day, some day Yes I live for the day When I can hear you say You make me feel Like a whore* I want, just once, to see him humbled. Not broken, simply shamed. I want to see something other than confidence in his too green eyes. You're not supposed to be able to be perfect but Kevin is. Damn him. Whenever he smiles he is. He's so far out of reach, out of my reach, I wonder why I even try. I'm his other half and even I have never seen past the walls he built so long ago. I don't think I know my husband. I don't think I ever will. I know the moment we met and shook hands that he could read me like a book. *Yes I dream of the time When I can make you mine Maybe then I'll feel half alive More alive, So alive There is this place inside Where all the good things die* Is it so hard for mountains to bend? So hard for Kevin Richardson to be a mere man? Even Achilles had his damn heel. *You make me feel like a whore* I'll always go back to him, in the end, no matter the cruel words or the pain. After awhile you stop feeling it all. After awhile you're just numb. Cause he's Kevin, my husband, and I'm his in every tangible way, shape, and form. His to break, hate, and maybe, god help me, love. God help me cause the woman in me wants to be a wife and I'm so damn afraid all that's left is a whore. And who loves a whore?