He was her canvas. Paint splattered across his skin just like the first time they met. Scars littered all across his arms and legs, all of them going back to different encounters with sharp objects and his own sharp mind. Tracing all of them made her jumbled mind focus on important things again, it was the reason she still kept him around after all they've been through. He was her anchor, keeping her in place where she belonged. And she belonged right next to him, sprawled across the bedsheets, entangled.
He belonged to her and she trusted him with all she possessed.
YOU ARE READING
snap out of it
General FictionThe story starts with a bucket of paint and ends with a simple nod, and as in all stories, things happen in between, whether it's a fight or teaching Him the difference between fucking and making love. That's what the story is about, and many storie...
