She swayed toward him, more than slightly intoxicated and in four inch heels. She put her arms around his neck-- more for balance than with any kind of affection. She pulled him close, kissed his cheek and whispered in her sweetest tone: "Have I told you lately that I really, really hate you?"
"Then why do you keep coming back?" he asked, humoring the drunk girl in his arms.
"Because you're safe. Probably the safest guy in this entire bar!" she yelled the last part, waving one arm out to illustrate her point. He guided her hand back to his neck to keep her from falling, though truth be told, he loved the feel of her arms around him, but he'd never admit to that.
"Why do you say that? Because you feel so secure in my arms? or because even though *I* hurt you all the time, I won't let anyone else do it?"
"Nope. You're safe because I know that I could never love you. And since loving someone opens a person to pain, the simple fact that I don't love you keeps me safe." She told him in her most logical (albeit drunk) voice.
