Bad Saint

I’m interrupted when I hear someone tsk me before I’m being dragged by my long hair which falls down my back and hurled against what feels like a cushioned bench seat. The pain in my head just amplifies. “Arms behind. Hands together.”

I shakily comply, sobbing around the gag.

me crazy because it’s not like I haven’t heard it before, but Drew and I met six weeks ago while I was modeling for a local designer in LA. When I stepped out onto that runway and saw Drew sitting in the front row, I just knew our paths had crossed for a reason.

After the show, all the girls were gossiping about

But when fate intervened and took my dad away when I was twelve, my mother’s light faded.

carries me over the threshold.

I hated it because I was no longer daddy’s little girl.

That Kenny wasn’t unzipping his pants and telling me to be a good little girl. I