Cleopatra and Frankenstein

She wanted something that would roll through her like a flood, wash away whole years of her life. Those final hopeful months believing her mother was getting better. Gone. The night she met Frank, his smile, his compliments, his hand snaking its way under her dress to find a nest between her legs. Gone. Those weeks with Anders. Gone. Every man, in fact, who had burrowed his way inside her, kissed her and fucked her, come in her, on her. She wanted them out. She wanted a river heavy with men’s bodies sucked out of her. She wanted death by flood.

The thought occurred to him that if you listened hard enough in New York, you could always hear a siren. Someone, somewhere, was always getting hurt

When he finally did speak, it was a single sentence. When the darkest part of you meets the darkest part of me, it creates light.