I guessed a little part of me had hoped Axe-Man might want to finish my canvas himself. But just because we’d been getting along better, just because we’d hate fucked twice, didn’t mean everything was forgiven. Of course, he wouldn’t want to put his own mark on my body. There was something utterly possessive about it, an act of ownership. And he didn’t want to own me. No matter how much I longed for it.
