I’m not past it! I’m not past the memory of her touch, the memory of wanting her—which isn’t even a memory right now. It’s real; it’s present, wanting her is my current state of being—and how the fuck am I ever supposed to get past the fact that this is Elijah’s little sister? Someone I held as a baby? Oh my God, I’m going to hell. I don’t even believe in hell and I’m going there, and what’s worse is that she believes in hell, probably; she believes in all this stupid stuff; she’s giving her life to the same church that killed my sister.
