blood from a stone, water from wine.

  Born under an ill-placed sign.

  a stroke of bad luck,

wrong place, wrong time.

She’s pouring her heart out to me, she’s not crying, she’s just talking real fast. Trying to keep herself in check, the sad girl doesn’t have to come out, she can’t come out, not now. She needs to remain quirky, she has to keep control. “ He kicked me a few times, I s…creamed for him to stop.” She laughs through every painful moment, like it’s a joke we should all be toppling over about. It’s just her way to keep it altogether. “ But it’s like whatever, he just had one of those days.”

“ How many days is that?” I say with a little chuckle.

She laughs too. “ Shit, he gets it more than my monthly.” Her fingers play nervously with the pages of the book. She doesn’t want to talk, she doesn’t want to think about the pain. If you took a picture of her, you’d see the scream.

“ What if I took care of him.” She rips the page clean off the moment I utter those words. “ Don’t deny it, you’ve wanted it to happen a long time ago.”

“ No, I wouldn’t.” She shakes her head frantically.

“ No, you’d wish for a truck to run over him.” Her eyes slowly meet mines, she knows I see her, the real girl hiding behind that mask. The one that’s screaming for someone to free her, free her from the chains, make a slave free. “ Show him to me and I’ll do the rest.”

“ Just like that,” She wants to trust me, but she doesn’t know if she should. I can’t blame her, who walks out of the blue, and offers you the thing you want the most in life right now. “ Why?”

“ I’m an angel.”

She chuckles. “ Devil wearing the skin of an angel.”

“ What’s your name?” I ask her.

“ Julian.” A handshake to seal the deal, our souls sold to each other


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