That fucking tattoo ... My eyes flicked back to the sharp black lines, teasing me from beneath her collar. The cross hung above them, playing in multiple contrasts. Darkness and light. Hell and Heaven. Evil and good. Standing there, I then felt the analogy applied to us as well. Her, in pink and denim. Me, in black and nothing but. Her, wearing the symbol of Christ. Me, wearing the anger of the damned. What was a woman like her doing with the brand of the devil on her chest, disguising itself as art?
