It didn't suit him well to grieve, and he knew that much. Dry eyes and straight back were all he brought to the funeral, and all he left with. The hand that used to warm the crook of his elbow didn't accompany him.

Elaine was waiting. But he couldn't see her.

Work was preferable, anyway. She should have known that, like she should have known him, but she never seems to. How much did a man need to open up before someone actually understood? Understood that he was simply empty inside.

He was empty enough to fill himself with her, but she was already too full for him. The affection was mutual, but the value it had to each of them was incomparable.

When they met again, at last, after everything had cooled off, the sky was dimmer than the mood. They were only standing a foot or so apart, but there was a chasm between them. A rift that neither cared to cross.

"Happy?" He asked.

"I'm always happy."

"Sure, sure."

"Are you?"

"Yeah I'm fucking thrilled."

"You're a dick."

He rolled his eyes and made to leave. Those lips that used to trace loving caresses on his neck were now sneering at him, and it was more annoying than he was willing to be civil about. "You're the one who killed him: who's the dick here?" He tossed those words over his shoulder as he stalked away, not expecting a rebuttal. Not expecting the claws at his throat. Hadn't he paid for her last manicure? French tips.

"Say that again and you're next."

"As if I wasn't already going to be next. Piss off, Elaine: it's not like I can do anything now."

"Oh, don't be modest."

"I'm a man of immeasurable qualities, modesty is just one."

"You never used to be this annoying."

"Well you used to be prettier. We all change."

Those french tips were reddened by the blood they cut out of his cheek. Little bits of flesh piled beneath the acrylics.

He eyed her coldly as he pulled her hand away. "Satisfied?" he asked, dabbing away the blood with a handkerchief.

"No."

"Yeah, I never satisfied you, I get it. He didn't, either, and you killed him for it. Aren't you just a little too insatiable?"

"I thought that was how you liked them."

"It still is." Surprising them both, he captured her wrists and held her into a kiss that was as passionate as it was hateful. When he released her, he spat. "Nah, maybe it isn't." He finally managed to leave her then.

The following weeks were hellish. The lingering knowledge of how Elaine had killed his brother kept them bound, but all they wanted was to separate. Every past delight had soured.

The lips of both still felt the lingering bitterness of their last kiss, and nothing on earth could wash away the taste.