I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
"Listen, it ain't anythin' personal," Jack said, continuing to advance across the sand towards her, briefly sucking the blood from his thumb and spitting it onto the beach. "You're too sharp for your own good. It'll be quick, then you won't have to worry about anyone fuckin' you raw anymore, eh?" He shrugged, his free hand snaking out to catch about her bruised wrist, dragging her close.
"I'd say sorry, but we both know it wouldn't be all that true," he muttered. "If it helps, it's how I managed to track you down and save you. A shame, really."
"I'd say sorry, but we both know it wouldn't be all that true," he muttered. "If it helps, it's how I managed to track you down and save you. A shame, really."
