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Finn kissed me on the chapel floor once, a laugh like blasphemy in his mouth. His hands were cold from the water; he touched me like heat was a spell he could teach me. Later, at the pond, with frogs sawing the night in half, he’d crowded me up against a birch and turned me into a lit fuse. Bark bit my palms. His breath steamed in the dark. He set a rhythm in my hips that I swear my heart still keeps when I’m not looking.
She shifts, thighs pressing together, hoodie riding higher, and fuck, my teeth grind. I want to rip it off, crawl inside her, hollow her out until nothing is left but me.
There was a time he kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. Now he fucks me like I’m the one who killed him.
