Skin of a Sinner

by Avina St. Graves

“I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to wake you.” It’s him. He’s here. He’s back.

“Go back upstairs. I’ll come to get you once I’m done.”

Three years ago, to the day, he showed me that I was no one. That’s what hurts the most, because he wasn’t just anyone; he was everything to me. He was every smile that curved my lips, every laugh that rattled my chest, every dream that didn’t end in tears.

But to him, I was nothing.

“No, no, shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry, alright? I’ve got you.”

“Would you like the honors, Princess?”

Roman left me to fend for myself, and I almost died because of it.

But Roman Riviera is a liar. Every family before this one got rid of me. My mother is gone. I wasn’t enough for my father. And, God, I thought there was a chance I could be enough for him.

“You’re crazy. You’re fucking crazy.” “I prefer the term ‘artist,’” he quips.

“Sorry?” My breath comes out in short pants, and he lets go of me, knowing what’s about to happen. He always knows. “You’re sorry? Sorry? You don’t get to be sorry!” The more I say the word, the less believable it sounds. “You don’t get to come here and act like everything is alright. Do you even know what they did to me? You left me for dead, Roman. You're a coward.” I shove him, even though he’s not holding me anymore. “A fucking coward!”

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My voice comes out raw as my chest heaves. “I can’t believe I trusted you and gave you all of me.” Shove. “I regret ever laying eyes on you.” Shove. “I regret speaking to you.” Shove. “I regret ever meeting you.” This time, when I shove him, he doesn’t budge. His arms encircle my waist, and he presses his cheek against my head. “I hate you, Roman. I fucking hate you. You’re the worst thing to ever happen to me. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

I’ll do anything for a Pop-Tart.

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Her big eyes drop away from my face, and her bottom lip quivers again. Does this girl ever stop crying? Life sucks. Get over it. No use crying about it.

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This tastes like a child made it,

She’s already there by the time I get to our spot.

'our spot'

“You fucked with my girl.” Roman chuckles darkly, glancing at me before saying, “And you should never fuck with my girl.”

The Roman I knew would burn the entire city down before letting

someone who hurt me walk free.

“Apologize to my girl.”

I run.

We never used to be able to high-five without one or both of us flinching, so when she hugged me for the very first time two years ago on my birthday, it was like I saw the light. Then, when she hugged me last year, I’m pretty sure I understood why people find religion.

She is the only one who has ever been able to calm me.

She’s always been there for me—the light at the top of the basement, the first bite after days of starvation, the one who doesn’t make me feel like running.

My drawings aren’t on the walls, the bed is gone, and

The bracelet. I broke it. Bella’s bracelet.

“Got you,” he hums against my ear,

“Do you realize how much I fucking missed you? I was going insane thinking about you.”

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

“Don’t let go of you?” He laughs darkly. “Oh, that was my plan. You’re all mine now.”

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.

“Do you know I was thinking about you all that time away?” My voice disappears with every other thought except one: I was always on his mind. All this time. He missed me.

“I was going crazy thinking about another guy laying a hand on you.” His hold tightens almost painfully. “Do you know what that does to me? Thinking that someone else is touching what’s mine,” he snarls into my neck and demands control over my breathing with the flex of his fingers. “I kept wondering if I consumed your every waking thought, just like you consumed mine.” His fingers inch lower. “I kept thinking about what you felt like in my hands, all the little sounds you made. Fuck, and how fucking divine you felt beneath me.”

“My memories could never compare to the reality of you. Don’t you realize you were made for me? We were made for each other.”

“Say it, Bella,” he whispers. “Say my name.”

“So beautiful,” he mutters.

“Tell me you want me.” “Go to Hell.”

“You’ll be right there with me. You’re my favorite sin.”

“Better than I remember,” he mutters against my neck. “You’ll regret letting me feel your cunt coming all over my fingers. I promise you, next time, I’m breaking you on my cock.”

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“I don’t want to do this, Bella. Do you think I want to hurt you?” he asks through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

“Never.”

“It wouldn’t be the fi...

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur.

“You could have stopped me.” “How?”

“I would do anything you tell me to.”

He chuckles, and I yelp when he slaps my ass. “Fuck, I missed you.”

What’s worse is that I miss him too. I miss his voice, the nicknames, the constant entertainment, and the way he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Don’t even think about it.” I frown at him. I wasn’t even thinking about running; I was just waiting for him to unlock the truck so I could step inside. What is wrong with me?

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The dynamic between us has shifted. It’s no longer the princess and her knight. It’s something far simpler: the prisoner and her captor.

“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.”