The Price Of His Twisted Love

a Quin

, her voice laced with a venom I rarely heard. He

her, a strange emptiness settled in my chest. The kind of

ile. "She returned on May 15th, eight year

ur love, the day I eagerly awaited his return. Instead, I had wait

ipation. His name flashed on the screen. My h

ed, hurried. "I need your help. It's

iercely protective of her. He always had been. Their bond was deep, complicated, almost primal.

ble?" I had asked,

d your personal photos. Your selfies. As many

g that wasn't for my good. I had pulled up my photo gallery, sending him dozens of pictures: candid shots, playfu

across every screen, every tabloid. It was a grotesque parody of my life. And some of those images, I recognize

ss, was now a public spectacle, a whore, a disgrace. The city, my city, the city where

side a raging inferno. My phone, usually a lifeline, became a symbol of terror. It buzzed

ber until they ached. No answer. Each unanswered ring was a fresh stab in my

ine was deafening. It screamed be