1.

If I believed in God, I would guess that he exhaled life into the boy simply to annoy me. It’s as if he collaborated with the Devil to perfect the human ideal of seduction. Their deified hands wrapped a mystery in the bland paper-packaging of pale skin. For nine months he sat, his lips sealed in a slight curve, until the 28th of the hottest month, days before the school year began, when love-lorn teenagers fuck their hearts out before they terminate their high school romances. On that day, he was born, and the female kind was fucked forever.

I’m glad I’m an atheist, because that assumption is fucking ridiculous.

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Connor Morgan. He sounds harmless enough, and a few hours in his presence affirms this initial reaction. Like most women, I ignored every possible sign that contradicted my first impression. Connor was a good man. Connor was one in a million.

I wasn’t wrong. He really is one in a million, and the definition of “good” is negotiable.