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The dickhead just assumes that I’ll follow him. Well. He's right.
“His name is Enzo. Sorry for his manners. He got bullied in school and hasn’t seen a therapist yet. We really appreciate your kindness.”
“Why did you get to be God’s favorite?”
“You can ask him yourself when I take you to see him.”
“Oh God,” I cry, trying to keep my voice down but failing miserably. “Can you see him, baby? Ask him for forgiveness.” “Why?” I pant, another high-pitched moan nearly swallowing the word. “Because you worship me now.”
“No more running, baby. I want him to come looking for you just so I can have the privilege of ending his life for touching what’s mine.”
