There was this guy, Nell. He had sweet smelling skin, like cinnabuns and Christmas. And this sexy little abs that made me want to throw him down fuck him like I only had a day left to live.
But the problem with Nell, was, well, see, Nell was a whore. I don't mean that he slept around with everything that'd hold still long enough. No, he was an honest to God whore, who'd palm sweaty, crinkled dollar bills after a fun little fuck-fest.
The shittiest part of it all was that I loved him. God, I loved him.
We'd sit under the maple tree, talking about philosophy. He'd sing me these cute little songs to me:
When heaven was hell on earth,
I'd caress your checks,
Touch you, Move you, Fuck you
Bring us closer to God.
That sort of thing. They were a lot cuter, sexier even when he sang them. Don't let the lyrics fool you. He'd carry my heart in his palm with those words.
But that was then.
Right now, right now I've been standing here, looking down at his body, a twisted heap of bluish skin and coagulated blood. Right now, I've been trying to decide whether to call the police or just look for clues myself.
In a town like this, the police don't give a rat's ass for a whore. He and I, we're alone in this big city. And I gotta find out who took my sweet angel, sins and all.
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