Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

“You’re going to ruin me, too. But unfortunately for you, that’s where I feel most at home.”

“My name and God’s don’t belong in the same sentence, bella,” he rasps, his voice as rough as the rock below us. “One is holy, and the other is depraved.”

Everyone wants to fix the broken, right?” “Nah,” he says. “People don’t actually care about fixing you. They just want to shape your broken pieces until they fit their standards. Smooth ’em out, make ’em less sharp, so they don’t cut so deep when they collect ’em. But you ain’t any less broken.”

“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.”