The Promise


Titre Lovers Artiste Mats Eriksson Peinture Figuratif, Portrait Série 1 Taille originale 40 x 60 cm

The cage around the forty watt light cast weak shadows on the walls. They’d retreated as far as the scourge that had become their fates allowed. Too little, far too late.

“Is that them, Sammy?”

“Might be.” It definitely was but Benny didn’t need to know that.

“But they’ll come, won’t they?”

Yes, yes they’ll come. They had righteousness and a purpose now. And proof. He should have known better, but sometimes you just didn’t think. That was on him because he knew things Benny didn’t.

They called him a little slow, him and Benny both, but they didn’t know nuthing about nuthing. They’d been lookin’ for reasons, they found them, and him and Bennie was too far gone in each other’s skin to care.

“Sammy, I’m not one, am I? A perv?”

“No. Why do you think—”

“God doesn’t love a perv.”

“God loves you, Benny.” He tucked Benny’s head into his shoulder and watched, waiting. They were close.

“Not as much as you, Sammy.” He was getting sleepy. It wouldn’t be much longer. “Will you be there when I wake up?”

“Yeah, Benny, you ’n me, together.”

“Forever? You promise?”

“I promise, Benny, I pro—”

About Nya Rawlyns

Nya Rawlyns doesn’t write typical romance. She writes emotion as a contact sport, rough and often raw. It need not be pleasant, heart-warming or forever after. What she seeks is what lies beneath—a dance of extremes, the intersect of need and desire, and the compromises we make when pain and pleasure become indistinguishable. ***** She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. ***** When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or three pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
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