Debt

by Nina G. Jones

The guy I was with seemed unsure, playing a role that he was afraid might cross some line. I didn’t just want rough, I wanted painful, I wanted degradation. I wanted someone to take me out of my head. No—force me out of my head. To violently thrust me away from convention. I am so “together” and I have always wanted to find someone who would make me a chaotic mess.

My dad used to warn me that the devil doesn’t have horns and a pitchfork, he’ll appear as the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’ll make you laugh. He’ll make you feel good. You’ll do things you never thought you would, but he’ll tell you it’s okay. And before you know it, you’ve sold your soul to him. That’s how I know Tax is my devil.

We are the thing of beauty created from catastrophe. We are the light burning bright, forged from an impossible collection of coincidences.