Some girls don’t like pretty things.
Some girls like things that are destructive and toxic. Things that fuel our bodies with adrenaline and bring our demons to their knees.
They say magic isn’t real, but isn’t it the closest way to describe love? It doesn’t exist physically. It merely exists around us, within us, possessing our souls and making us do stupid shit. Shit like falling in love with a boy who knows how to rip my world apart and raise hell with a simple flick of his wrist. Their secrets are now mine. I’m not just in the middle of this game, I’m helping orchestrate it. Can the cries of my aching soul be enough to drown out the burning embers of my mistakes?
The mind strengthens the heart, roughing the edges to prepare it for war. This is a war I will not win. This is a war of fate.
She’s going to break. She’s going to fall. She will eventually come back to me, on all fours. Because this isn’t a fairy tale. I am no knight. I’ll take all of her soul and pour in my spite. No light. No light. Even my darkness survives in daylight.
But love does win. Because even through the sin, it’s her that lingers within.
She beats through my veins. Whispers over my flesh, tugs on my heart strings like a puppet, tangled in a mess.
Will my heart be enough to bring her back to life when the first thing she reached for was not him, or him, or me. It was the one person who haunted her into misery.
This isn’t a game. Those aren’t my tricks. If she doesn’t obey. There’s a number…86.