I watched your blood drop into the chalice,

And then you pushed it to my parted lips.

In your soulless eyes, pleasure tangled with malice,

And my resistance proved defenseless beneath your icy grip.

High priestess, you made me all that I am.

My power rests in your left hand...

Diabla - that's what I call her, because she is a devil, in every sense of the word. Her eyes, so dark and endless, penetrate my soul and steal away every secret lust I'd hidden so well. Her full, plump lips, always lined so perfectly and colored various shades of crimson and burgundy, depending on her mood... I imagine them pressed against my own, her red bleeding into my soft pink shade, tasting her deception with the length of my sharpened tongue. How I long to twist my fingers in her lengthy blonde hair, to rest my face against her full chest... How I yearn to throw her down from her throne and show her how quickly my innocence can vanish when she's around. 

World of greed, keep on turning.

Don't worry about my tears.

Pay no mind to our tragic yearning

Or our cries that no one ever hears.

World of greed, keep your material wealth.

It can't buy me a better life.

Put your consolation back on the shelf.

We were born to fight.

World of greed, turn your back

Just like you always do.

Another day will fade to black,

And I'll still make it through.

World of greed, keep on turning.

Your promises lie in my clenched fists.

My dreams are all broken, and my future is burning,

And hope does not exist.

  I crouched a little lower in the filthy alley between the busy department stores, praying that I hadn't been seen. I caught a glimpse of the sophisticated older blonde that was leaving Swayne's, and I instinctively ducked behind a bunch of boxes that had been thrown out. I focused on the grease spot beneath my cool bare feet, and I tried to imagine myself there where no one would notice me. No, no one would be able to see the deep scar that hovered above my left brow. No one would notice my swollen, blood crusted lips or the dirt beneath my nails. No one would pay any attention to my limp, greasy brunette hair or the torn denim skirt I had been wearing now for three days.

"Hey, kid!"

Her husky voice interrupted my uncanny thoughts, and I thought of running but quickly decided against it. My heart pounded hard inside my chest in perfect rhythm with the heavy clacking of her heels against the pavement.

"Hey, are you okay? Can I take you some place?"

I timidly shook my head, continuing to look at the ground. I didn't want to make eye contact. If I did, I was afraid that she may recognize me.

"Oh my God!"

She lifted my face gently to meet her gaze, and tears of shame sprung to my eyes. She didn't look like the good Samaritan type. Her dark eyes were piercing and framed perfectly by long, thick black lashes. She was a Chanel bitch - the type that always wore thousand dollar dresses and never left home without some kind of fancy hat and a pair of heels. Her perfume was heavy and seductive - the kind that lingered in the air long after someone was gone.

"I'm okay," I lied. "Please, just leave me be."

She frowned slightly.

"At least let me take you to lunch," she pleaded. "That's the very least I could do."

My stomach rumbled uncontrollably at the very mention of food. The last thing I'd had to eat was a slice of cornbread crumbled into a glass of buttermilk, and that was at least fifteen hours before.

"I guess."

That was how I met Janine DuBois, my mentor, guardian, and my only friend in the whole world. Now, here I sat, just five months later, trying to explain to her why I'd lied to her about everything. She'd taken me in, provided me with food and shelter, kept my mind occupied, and she'd been the best friend a person could ever wish for, but I'd betrayed her in the worst imaginable way. I'd pretended to be someone that I wasn't.

"Answer me, Sylvia! Who the hell is Arthur Wayne Kite?"

I hadn't expected my past to come back to haunt me here. My entire life had been nothing but a slow, torturous hell, and life with Janine was everything I'd ever fantasized about. I guess that's what made it so easy for me to pretend that none of the bad things ever happened.

"Sylvia, answer me, goddammit!"

She wiped the angry tears away with the back of her hand as she stood in the doorway to keep me from leaving.

"No! You can't leave. You can't run from this, Sylvia! You tell me what's going on right now," she sobbed. "Sylvia, don't I deserve that much? Don't I?"

I stared down at my own face on the front page of the crumpled newspaper, and I suddenly felt sick as the memories I had been trying to suppress were thrown at me all at once.

"I'm sorry, Janine," I sobbed. "Just let me go, please. Just forget me. I'll go away, and you won't ever hear from me again."

"No," she groaned. "I don't want you to go away! I want you here with me. You lied to me about everything, but something tells me there might have been a reason for that. I can't let you go, Sylvia, so please just tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"I can't!"

"So that's it? I have been harboring a fugitive, and I'll probably go to prison simply for being left in the dark about everything, and you won't even give me a fucking explanation? Was it your father, Sylvia? You have the same last names. Were you going to kill me, too?"

I sobbed loudly as I forced myself to relive my horrid, ugly past, and like an old wound that had been opened up just as it was beginning to scab over, the pain was nearly unbearable.

"All of us had that last name," I said softly. "I don't know who my real father was, or even my mother, for that matter. They were just more nobodies that Arthur took in to be his followers. He made all of us call him Father Kite, like he was some goddamned priest or something. I hate religion! If there is a god, he's fucking cold!"

Janine squeezed my hand firmly as I continued.

"Arthur was a cult leader, and we were his devoted followers. We were to do everything he said, no matter what we were told to do, and if we didn't, we would pay dearly."

Hot, angry tears spilled from my eyes. I looked over at Janine, and she was crying too.

"I had tried to leave that morning. I'd made it almost out of Thicket when Hazel, one of the followers, found me and brought me back."

Janine shook her head sadly. I searched her face for some sign of forgiveness, but I wasn't sure whether it was there or not.

"That night, Janine, Arthur dragged me out of bed and into the woods. He wanted to make sure that he had me all to himself, so he waited until everyone else was asleep. 'No one to hear you scream out here,' he'd laughed. I was still so sore from his beating that I could barely walk when he started to rape me for the second time."

Janine balled her hands into angry fists as I told my story.

"I was in so much pain, Janine. I didn't know how I would survive it. When I saw a chance, I grabbed this stick that was poking into my side while Arthur was still on top of me. I jabbed it into his chest as hard as I could, but it just broke off, and he laughed that wicked laugh as he brought his fist down into my face. I knew that I had to do something fast. I mean, it was my life or his."

I had Janine's full attention by then.

"I jabbed my fingers into those ugly, beady black eyes of his, and he rolled off of me, writhing in pain. Empty, bloody sockets stared out at me, and he yelled so loudly that I was certain someone would come out to investigate, but they never did. I kicked him over and over in the ribs, in the stomach, and in the face."

My voice sounded too small and weak to belong to someone who was wanted for murder. I wondered if the judge would pay any attention to my innocent physique and give me a lighter sentence. Maybe I would get life in prison instead of lethal injection. Either one would be better than the hell I'd escaped.

"When I wrapped my bony hands around his neck, I thought surely that they were too small to do much of anything, but I still tried my best to choke the life out of him. I let all of my rage build inside me until I felt like my blood was boiling in my veins. I knew that if I let up, it would be the end of me. I watched his face turn red and then a deep blue - purple color before it faded to white. Even then, I wasn't sure if I was safe. So, I made a run for it."

"Good for you," Janine sniffled. "That bastard deserved to die."

"I didn't stop running until I got to New Orleans. It only took me four hours to make it there by foot, and I figured in a place like that, it would probably be a little harder to find me. Little did I know, I stuck out like a sore thumb just about everywhere I went."

"That's a good thing," Janine assured me, laughing through her steady stream of tears.

"Remember when I first came here, and I screamed out in pain when I sat down in the bath water or when the water hit my back in the shower?"

She nodded.

"I told you that a crazy person attacked me, and that's why my body had those gashes all over. The truth is that the crazy person was Arthur."

Janine wrapped her arms around me tightly, and for the first time in a really long time, I felt completely safe.

"If I would have been there, I would have done way more to the bastard than that," she assured me.

"I used to fantasize about how he would die, and I would pray that I'd be around to see it. I thought maybe he would drink himself to death, or maybe he'd fall dead of a heart attack from consuming so much pork from all those poor pigs he slaughtered right in front of us. I always fantasized about Arthur dying, but I never once thought it would be my hands that would kill him."

"Don't worry, baby," Janine whispered loudly into my hair. "I won't let you go down for this. I promise. Once they know what happened to you, there will be no way in hell that you'll serve even a day. Your time has already been served. Now it's time for you to do some living."

I gazed adoringly at her, taking in her strong yet so delicate scent. As her full breasts brushed against the side of my face, something pleasant and unwelcome stirred inside me. I fought back the urge to press my lips against hers, so full and perfect, and just then, she kissed the top of my head gently as though I were a small child.

"So, you forgive me, then?"

"There is nothing to forgive," she answered, "other than myself for not finding you sooner."