It always starts with a love story.
It never starts off with the sadness, the fighting, the anger, the jealousy.
It is always sweetly said words whispered.
A flirty look.
A casual touch, skin to skin.
A meet-cute movie moment.
A first kiss.
A first fuck.
It never starts out with pain.
It never starts out with gritted teeth.
This is what scares me.
You never know if someone is truly good until they are not.
You never know if they are carnivorous until they take a bit of you, teeth on flesh, sinking deep, breaking skin.
When it begins, there are smiles.
When it begins, hands are held, lips are kissed, bodies held close.
You don’t know if they would hurt you until their hand strikes you.
You don’t know if they want to hurt you until you see their smile, your blood in the cracks between their teeth.
When it begins, the wolves still wear their human clothing.