Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

You’ve been watching those crime documentaries again. We talked about that. It’s not good for your mental health.” Shivering as she edges closer to me, she mutters, “Being chopped to bits wouldn’t be good for my mental health, either.”

“Never be ashamed of the things that make you different. That’s where your true power lies.”

You never forget your first love. Especially when he’s also your worst nightmare.

greater fool exists than a teenage girl ensnared in the trap of first love.

“He doesn’t take Visa. Just put everything in the casket, honey, and we’ll deal with your mental trauma later.”

It’s the Blackthorn way and has been for as long as anyone can remember: men are only tools, and love is only for fools.

“You don’t hate me, Bugs.” “If you want to keep your kneecaps in working order, don’t ever call me that again.” “I don’t hate you, either. Not even a little bit. Not even a particle.”

“Oh, those eyes. Those lovely, spellcasting eyes. How they’ve haunted me. If only you knew the power they’ve always held over me. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so cruel, little witch.”

Even though I hate him, he’s still like the apple the serpent offered to Eve. One bite of him could bring total ruination.

Breathe. Don’t faint. Don’t do anything. He doesn’t affect me at all because I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. But why does he have to smell so good?

I’m calling to find out how you’re feeling about that kiss.” His voice drops. “Because I’m dying to do it again. Right fucking now. Come back.”

“Baby, you haven’t been fucked right in years, and we both know it. Now stop being stubborn and get your ass back over here. We’ve got a lot of unfinished business to sort through.”

Would you like to know what I want?” “Definitely not.” He reaches through the gate, grabs the front of my coat, and yanks me to him. Staring into my eyes, he growls, “I want what’s mine.”

“Maven. I love you, too, baby. So much. So fucking much.”