Debt

by Nina G. Jones

I am an expert in creating toys to please females, and if there was ever a cock created by the hands of god to maximize a woman’s pleasure, it’s the one being held by the leather glove in front of me.

Hate can become so ingrained in you that it becomes part of your identity, your psyche. You define yourself with that hatred, so that if it leaves and there is nothing else to replace it, you lose a piece of yourself. I think when you feel anything strong enough it becomes its opposite. I think you can love someone so hard that you hate them. And I think you can hate someone so hard you grow attached. That’s why some people spend their whole lives hating someone they repeatedly invite into their lives: they don’t even know who they are without it.

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.

It’s come full circle: the girl who set me on the path of destruction can be my redemption.

He’s light and dark, forgiveness and vengeance, beauty and ugliness. He’s all those things. My beautiful savage. And even savages protect their young.

We defied fate, who stepped in long ago and did everything in her power to keep us apart. Like two comets headed for a collision, our trajectory could not be stopped. We kept finding a way back.

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