"If I've learned anything in my short time here, it's that there are far more dark kings than white knights. It's up to you to save yourself, and sometimes, that's by any means necessary."
Can I really put my trust in a criminal? Is my only saving grace in those who lie, cheat, steal, and kill?
Hell, are you really any better than them?
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. Opening my eyes on a slow exhale, I silently answer my own question.
No. You're worse. You're a monster born from the darkest evil and shaped by sin.
The moment he spoke, my control was gone. The instant he touched me, my inhibitions disappeared. When the switchblade pressed against my skin, want grew into need. My darkest desires rose up in reverence, spilling over as easily as the blood from our split skin.
"Christ," Sketch voices his disbelief. "Who the fuck are you?"
At his question, I meet his eyes. "No one. I'm absolutely no one."
The words are so true, more honest than I ever realized. For a moment, a long lost part of me – the real me – screams to be set free.
Holding me the way he wants, he claims my mouth just the way I need him to. The kiss is every bit a possession of my body. The edges of his darkness dance across my skin, wrapping around my limbs, drawing out the depravity I lock away.
"You will never be free," he pauses, bringing his face closer to mine, "of me."
The words, his promise, should terrify me, but they don't, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the way he's chipping away at my façade. Maybe it's that he's glimpsed the dark urges, the evil, inside me, and still desires more. No, he commands more.
"I've glimpsed your darkness," I whisper, feeling her body tense, "and it's fucking beautiful."
Both of his hands move to palm the sides of my face, his forehead pressing to mine.
"The ground will be littered with the bodies of those who have and would hurt you," he vows. "I will lay each one at your feet and carve your name into their flesh as a reminder to others."
"I've spent my life making sure no one owns me," he declares, squeezing me tighter. "Until you. You've seen the ugliness, danced with my demons, and you didn't run."
"I don't care about your sins," he says, "I have my own." His fingers flex against my scalp. "And quite honestly, I need your soul to be as dark and corrupted," he confesses. "It's the only way mine won't destroy you. I can't destroy you."