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Maybe we’re two mangled, jagged pieces who could click together, despite all the fires burning around us.
I want Dascha Reznikov to be my broken toy, in all ways. And I have a habit of getting what I want, especially when it’s the thing that could be my untimely demise.
“Who are you and what have you done with the big asshole who put a cock cage on me?” He murmurs, and I laugh. “Who are you and what have you done with the stubborn bitch who fought me tooth and nail before?” I arch a brow at him, and he sighs, blinking while giving me a studious look. “I don’t even know, to be honest,” he says. “I guess maybe you’re not that bad.”
I’m fucking lost. No… maybe I was lost before. And someone finally found me.
He is sunshine to me, in this bleak, dingy place. It makes sense for us to go someplace where sunshine is always on display.
Holding my wrists up, I observe the word My on the left, and Officer on the right. Exactly where I’ve been cuffed a million times since arriving at Alabaster Penitentiary, the most painful of which done by Kemper. My Officer.
