S.J. Tilly

“Back. The. Fuck. Off!”

I blow him a kiss.

He grins.

I melt.

I tilt my head.

His tongue brushes my lips.

I die.

The crowd goes wild.

Jackson snaps me out of my spiral when he leans forward, kisses me on the forehead, and whispers, “You’re fucking adorable.”

“If you’d like to stay for a bit, you can. I’m just gonna get my pajamas on.”

Leave, jackass.

It’s time for you to leave.

“I can stay for a while.”

The angel on my shoulder throws up his hands, shaking his head in exasperation.

“If you’d like to stay for a bit, you can. I’m just gonna get my pajamas on.”

Leave, jackass.

It’s time for you to leave.

“I can stay for a while.”

The angel on my shoulder throws up his hands, shaking his head in exasperation.

I forget that I hate him.

“Because I can. And because the world needs your art.”

“Why do you call me that?”

Because I’ve always wanted to call someone Baby.

This is my penance for every bad thing I’ve ever done.