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I hold my arms open for my god and he prowls toward me. My legs spread on their own and he’s in between them, his pants scraping against the soft skin of my inner thighs.
When he’s face to face with me, I whisper, “You never asked to see my… you know. Didn’t you want a picture of it?”
He shudders, fisting my hair, his chuckle sounding more like a rusty bark. “I was trying to be a good guy. A guy who doesn’t ask his girlfriend to flash her pussy just so he can capture it and jerk off to it later.”
I put my hand on his sweaty back; it’s rippling with muscles. “But you are that guy.”
“Yeah.”
“Then you should know that I’m that girl too. I would’ve done it. I would’ve done anything for you.”
There’s peace in admitting that. So much peace in giving in that I smile. He groans and grips my chin fiercely. “You should look up at the ceiling and start praying to God. Because this is it. I’m not gonna stop. Do you understand that? I’m not gonna stop because I’ve waited too long for this. You’ve made me wait too long, and I’m too hard up. I’m too starved for it. For your pink cunt. And you know what else?”
I shake my head, clutching the strands of his hair.
“I’ve looked into the eyes of your God and I’ve prayed to Him. Me. I don’t even believe in Him. You’ve reduced me to that. You’ve reduced me to believing in something that doesn’t even exist.”
I’m gushing. My pink cunt, as he calls it — my heart, my eyes. Everything is filled to the brim with hormones, lust and love.
But his warnings are useless right now. I hook my legs around his hips and shudder with the first contact of his naked skin. I clutch the silver cross, dangling from his neck, hitting me on the chin. “What do you pray for?”
He gets even closer to me, the slight hair on his strong chest rubbing against my engorged nipples. “For you. For you to be on your knees in front of me. Looking at me with your innocent eyes, while I wrap your sweet yellow hair around my wrist and feed you my cum. Every last drop of it. And when it’s all gone, I pray that you beg me with your pouty lips to fuck you. So I can claim that last part of you as you’ve claimed every single part of me.” Another rusty laugh. “Isn’t that crazy, huh? I pray to a god who’s dead. He probably died a long time ago.”
I blink to get rid of the tears and tighten my limbs around him to fuse us together. “Fuck me, Abel. Please.”
It’s a whisper but he hears it, and then his entire frame crashes down on me. He’s kissing me with his mouth, with his fingers, his palms, his feet… his entire body hugs me like his mouth hugs mine while we’re kissing. Every part of me touches every part of him. Even our hearts touch, through our chests.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I’ve never heard that sound before. So loud. Two hearts beating as one. But then the sound changes, morphs into something else. Something even louder. Rougher and angry and insistent.
We break apart, our breaths crashing against each other. The door of his apartment vibrates. It’s almost on the verge of breaking down. An explosion. Abel opens it at the last second to save it from getting torn apart.
But my world explodes anyway. Because on the other side are my parents and their wrath-filled eyes.
I thought I was living in the apocalypse for the past two years. I thought my world was already destroyed – nothing could be worse than not seeing Abel, not being able to touch him.
I was wrong.
This is worse. This is the end of my world. The earthquake. The destruction. Only nothing beautiful will come out of this. No new worlds or fresh air will be born after this.
There is no after.
I sit inside my bedroom, under my barred window, and things that happened hours before come to me in pieces.
The screaming, the shouting, the angry eyes. The sting of a slap that my mom threw at me when she saw my naked body wrapped up in a sheet. The crying. Oh God, the crying. Mom’s and mine. Her hiccups, my hiccups. Her calling me a whore, saying how I ruined things for myself and for my family. How I gave up my precious virginity to a worthless boy.
“I always knew it. I always knew he’d ruin you. Do you think I can’t see? Do you think I don’t get it? I’m your mother. Did he force you? Tell me he forced you. It’s better to call it a rape than whatever this is.”
