Fire soothed her nerves,
especially in moments such as these. Dancing gold, red, yellow, blue. She touched the flame with her fingertip, briefly.
She’d never been comfortable with material things, but fire transcended the physical world. Something about it felt almost spiritual.
She thought back to the other night,
The flames traced a pattern on her skin, she felt the warmth zip along its designated path
Or the times before that,
Fire slapped on her round ass, properly pushed up into his hands
Fire swung through the air, the satisfying whack midair
She could never comprehend her own fascination with fire. Nothing else satisfied. Bruises, rope, photography- no none of it came close to fire’s overwhelming power.
She picked a bill at random, did not bother to glance at the number upon it. Then she struck the match, watched it burn.
Flames licked the paper’s edges. It smelled bitter, as of disappointment. She inhaled its perfume.
Money is only money, she reminds herself. She is worth more than this little piece of paper. She stretches long, pale legs on satin cushions and the ashes fall upon her soft skin.
It feels good to destroy that which attempted to destroy her.
She had emerged, not unscathed, but whole. She would never worry about anything again.
Fire’s beauty would heal all.