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Why is it that we’re fucking saints the moment we die?
“I wanna make you a beautiful, broken doll, Austin.” Her eyes widen at my confession. “All mine to play with.” I look at her parted lips while licking my own. “All mine to fuck.” She moans. “All mine to destroy.”
“And you’ve always been the kind of guy who would burn this town down if given a reason.” She sits back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. She smiles at me. “And Austin is your reason.”
We’re like the devil is to sin. Without one, we wouldn’t have the other.
