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“Because when I find you, you’ll have no other god but me.”
She stands beneath the cross and for the first time he’s tempted to kneel and pray.
This is Ethel Cain in written form
“You’re the only sacred thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I wouldn’t stop for the end of the world,”
“I’m gonna fucking marry you,”
“The only sacred thing,” he breathes. “Is us and the dirt of this.”
By the time the sun rises, she’s covered in cuts from the rocks and the weeds and his mouth and she’s convinced he is born of both the earth and the ocean, and that he’s never been human, and that she hasn’t either. East is to their left, she realizes. On a map, that means they’re upside down.
“I want to have a chance at heaven, at least.” “Why?” he asks, withdrawing his hand. He leaves an aching emptiness in his wake. She looks back and watches him lick his fingers clean. She whimpers. “Heaven is here. In the space between the two of us.”
It’s the only thing he can do anymore, isn’t it? Fuck her. Love her. Wait for her to die.
You’re the only thing that could kill me.
“I haven’t had enough time with you-” His voice cracks. “I haven’t, Sadie,” he sniffs. He wipes his face. “I haven’t had close to enough time with you. I haven’t woken to you in my arms enough. I haven’t heard you laugh enough. I haven’t fucked you enough. It’s not enough for me. A hundred years wouldn’t be enough, but it would be close, so what is it?”
“You are my gravity,” he says, his voice a near-growl. “You are my sky, my fucking ocean, my moon, my air. You’re my religion. You’re what I reach for, don’t…” He punches the wood of the dresser and it collapses inward. “Don’t leave me,” he breathes. “Don’t take yourself away from me.”
My, what a deflowering.
“Only sacred things,” Sadie whispers, guiding his hands to her belly. He feels the roundness of it. Feels his child kick inside of her. “Are us and the dirt of this.”
