As Rotkoff lay unmoving, he could hear the repetitive thump-thump of his heart beating. Faintly he could hear the swishing of the blood being forced t...rough the tracery of tiny veins and capillaries that networked his body. It seemed that he could feel the accretion of tiny dust particles drifting down onto the surfaces of his eyes, unable even to blink them away. By degrees he became aware that, behind his head – out of sight – the people he had killed – the three children he had burned in. Not here, in the van, before anyone knows that I own him. He doesn't own me. I'm not a slave to his passion. I'm not, I tell myself. I'm not.His chest could be sculpted of marble. My fingers run down it swiftly losing this battle to him and my baser self. Then, I feel the barbells and salvation. I twist them both hard."Ah! Shit!" He nearly leaps off me. "Oh, man." 'Ey, you alright back ther' mon?" The driver looks back at us, ignoring the death-defying traffic for a moment. The other couple, as. More

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