Skin of a Sinner

by Avina St. Graves

“You taste like every sinful thought I’ve ever had.”

I’m sick and depraved. I haven’t accepted it, but I acknowledged it long ago. It’s difficult not to turn toward the darkness when I spent my days fantasizing about the boy with a sadistic grin and bloody fists, whose knuckles were always split for me.

“No amount of blood spilled will ever be too much for you.” “When will it end?” He smirks. “When I’m in a grave, and even then, Hell won’t keep me from you.”

“Don’t worry. If you break, I’ll put you back together. If you run, I’m running right behind you. If you burn, I’ll burn with you.”

“You will never be alone again. I swear on my life. Wherever you go, I’ll be right there. We’ll always find each other. I’m not going anywhere. It’s a promise. We’re forever, Princess, and nothing will ever come between us. Do you understand?”

My religion starts with “Isa” and ends with “Bella,” and I’d worship at her altar every night. Blessed be the meal I’m about to eat and all that.