Page 15 of Goodbye Butterfly

Getting her out of that tight little dress and onto her knees so I can paint sin across her tongue.

But instead, I step back.

Just slightly.

Just enough to pretend I’m giving her space, even though we both know I’m not.

And that’s when it hits me—like a goddamn sniper round to the skull.

The way she looks at me right now?—

Open.

Raw.

Curious.

It reminds me of a girl I once met.

Just a girl.

A child.

Dust in her hair.

Shaking hands.

Hiding behind a crumbling wall while her brother bled out two feet away.

She looked up at me like I was the devil and the saviour in the same breath.

And I was.

I had to be.

That was the job.

Do what they couldn’t.

Become what they needed.

Turn yourself into the monster so nobody else had to.

I blink.

The club’s too loud.

Too hot.

Too full of perfume and sweat and things I can’t name without bleeding.

She’s still watching me.

Still caught in whatever the fuck this is.

And she doesn’t know—God, she doesn’t know what I’ve done.

Where these hands have been.