Maybe that’s what kept thrusting the two of us back together, no matter how far we tried to run. How was I to know the reason his gaze was so storm-filled was because he, too, knew the pain of being betrayed by someone who, according to the rules, was supposed to care about him? But one look into those storm-filled gray eyes, and even as a naïve fifteen-year-old, I could tell what he had to offer was something way more addictive than chocolate or crystal meth. He was exactly the kind of stranger they were always warning us about in school. Not running from my own flesh and blood was my first mistake. According to them, no one in our own families would ever try to hurt us. We were supposed to run from strangers as fast as we could, the way Persephone, the girl from that old Greek myth, tried to when Hades, the lord of the dead, came after her.įunny thing about the rules, though. Walk, don’t run - unless it’s from a stranger, of course. In school they told us to follow the rules.ĭon’t talk to strangers. Here may indeed be torment, but not death.”
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |