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That’s the thing with trauma to the body—it shows up instantly. In breaks and bruises, in burns and in blood. But the trauma on the inside, that’s harder to see. It creeps around your mind, poisons you with disquiet. It can hit you out of nowhere, debilitating and ruinous. There are no marks visible for those. None, save the shadows in your eyes.
“Oh, Goldfinch. I would’ve found you in whatever world you were in. In whatever life.”
But my song of home doesn’t come from the sun. Mine comes from her.
“Make no mistake. I will watch you with hunger and feast on the scene of your thrill. But after you’ve had your fill, I’ll be there, driving my cock into your sweet cunt, purging all others from your skin as I take you. Over and over again. Until you remember that I’m the one you crave the most. The one who will always give you what you need. Until you remember that you’re mine all over again.”
“With gold and rot, we will protect what is ours. We will be our worst when we need to and be our best together. And at the end of the day, we will fucking destroy our enemies.”
Instead of being afraid of the whole damn world, I could make the whole damn world afraid of me.
