A/N Plot bunny of an extended metaphor was eating at me. Here we are. This is definitely a one-shot. I like writing for Jade a lot, and I certainly hope that this sounds like something she could hypothetically contemplate.

I've never been in love before. Infatuation, lust, maybe. I can't say for sure that I have ever truly fallen for someone.

"Say you love me," I ask him for the umpteenth time.

"What's the magic word?"

It's almost like a machine; you input a command, and the output's nearly always the same. Here's where I put in the password: "Please?"

"I love you."

And that's how it always is. Occasionally, there's some variation in this procedure. On several occasions, my machine has changed the password, like a security check to see if the one inputting the command is really human. Sometimes I fail the password check and he's joking. Once or twice, he's told me that he loves me without my prompting. I never tell him that this surprises me, that I wish that he would say it more often of his own accord.

Rarely do I ever profess my own feelings. It's just not true... that I love him. Because I don't. I may be something of a horrible person, but lying to someone makes me feel awful.

I am awful, though. This boyfriend that I have, who thinks he has me on a string. I broke up with him once, and I think he knew that I would come back. It's addicting, having someone who's so enraptured by you. And I don't even know what's going on in his head. Maybe he's thinking exactly the same thing I am now. What if he's tired of pretending that he loves me when he's just going through the emotions, getting a sick kick out of it?

...My eyes wander sometimes. I'll be throwing all of my acting skills into making this kiss count, and I open my eyes and see big brown eyes watching us. I can't tell if those wide eyes are merely curious or something else.

For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to have my hands gripped around soft, slim arms instead of thicker muscly ones. Her lips are soft, I imagine, more pleasant to feel than the rough chapped ones on my own now. I think for a moment I taste lip gloss, but it's just a bit of blood where his lips have cracked. The boy needs some water, and maybe some manly chapstick, but I'm busy right now. I can see her sit up straighter, staring at me curiously.

Shit. I'm staring. How weird must this look? I close my eyes tightly and try not to think about her. I'm cheating. On this boyish machine I've programmed, but he's nonetheless supposed to be my one and only.

His hands palm my back and start to slide lower. I tense up once those hands get too far down, and he stops. I let him touch me below the belt sometimes, but only in the dark, and only when I'm in the mood. It's unusual, even in these private moments, for me to touch him. His fingers travel across my body, almost methodically.

My breathing hitches, but only because I'm uncomfortable when my hand accidentally brushes against something hard through his jeans.

"Um..."

"No."

Just like always, I refuse him this. His hands probe lower and I pretend they're hers. I don't like that it's him, even though he's supposed to be my perfect match- seriously, there was a questionnaire in 9th and we were matched- but I don't want him. I don't even feel good, but I voice what I would say if she was over me.

The more I think about it, the more disturbed I am by our relationship. Everyone is terrified of me, but I've overhead numerous people say that me and him make a cute couple. He's my perfect match, but I don't really want somebody wired to cater to my every want. I'm supposed to be satisfied, but I'm not.

I touch her when I can, sometimes taking out my frustrations on the people around her, sometimes even on her. I always feel bad afterwards, but apologies would ruin my reputation. The last thing I need is another admirer thinking I'm sweet and weak. There's only one guy who has been persistent enough to pursue me after spending more than five minutes in my presence. And he has a collection of chewed-up food on his locker.

...But why don't I break this off?

I don't love him, but I like him. He's almost too good for me. I want to be loved, since I find myself so despicable, and I worry that she can't. I honestly don't know her that well, but she's good-hearted, yet unpredictable. I hate that I always have to ask him to do things for me. He does them willingly, and seems to enjoy them, but I don't want a robot. I want somebody spontaneous that will kiss me and tell me they love me often.

And I want this person to be a girl. It's not vanity or anything, since I can't help but be drawn to the curves and softness of one. There's one girl I have my eye on, but I have so much trouble working up the nerve to break up with this perfectly machine-like boyfriend of mine.

Would Beck be too heartbroken if I left him?

Would Cat even want to be with me?

I'm too scared of losing what semblance of a relationship I have now, to find out... For now.