"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god."
"I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him.
"That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion
"Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you."
"You'd probably burn."
𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. With his worm eaten, worn out morals-he knew he'd never deserve her. Playing the villain was all he ever really knew, so all he can do is burn down the world for her and hope it's enough.
𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She was known to be the perfect good girl, with the perfect grades and perfect life. But no one knew her, not really. Her existence is an abomination, a frankenstein of some sort. She never had a heart to give, even if she wanted to give it to him.
(of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck.
'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were.
So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart.
‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARNING, MENTAL HEALTH, SELF HARM, CHILD ABUSE, ABUSE OF POWER, UNETHICAL TREATMEN