"I have finally learned to dog men's shadows" she said, taking a drag on her cigarrette. Her eyes were drawn like curtains, her grey jeans too tight as she stuck up her legs on the dresser. "I have never made you dog my shadows", I said. "That's because you have none. You are just a pure ray of light", she said, her sarcasm searing into me like a knife. I took her palms. "Don't" she said, pulling away, but I could see the cuts from last night. "I'll get you some neosporin", I said. She laughed. "Are you afraid of scarring your painting?" "This isn't Dorian Gray, Dana. This is real life, and blood -oh fuck it!" I could hear her puffing on the cigarette while I searched for neosporin in the bathroom. "Sometimes life immitates art", she said, when I handed her the package.

I was silent as she smeared the thick translucent paste over her skin. I was embarassed by how fascinated I was by the curve of her elbow bending and unbending as she moved the q-tip across her wrist - the ritual sprinkling before the sacrifice. "Have you ever thought of going to a mikvah?" I asked. "Aren't you going to fuck me now?" she asked, her hands reaching for her sweater. "I'm serious; people say its refreshing." Her sweater was already off; her bra was white lace, her nipples peeked out underneath. "Since when have you cared about any of that?" I shrugged. She kissed me. "Let's not turn our relationship into something it's not", she said, leading me to the bed. "Where did you get that line, the Lifetime movie special?" "Fuck you." "Oh, I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you good." One hand reached for the zipper on her jeans; the other went towards her breasts.

Afterwards, as we lay in bed, I stroked the scars on her stomach. "It's even better than tattoos", she said. I laughed. "Much sexier", I said, planting a kiss on a particularly gross-looking one next to her belly-button. "I think I don't love you anymore", she said. There was a moment of silence. "Did you ever?" I asked. "I think so, at one point." Silence. "I think so", she murmured once more. My head was still on her stomach; she began to stroke my hair - stroking the lamb into silence upon the alter with one hand, she had already thrown the knife.

I fell asleep waiting for the fire, knowing the burning would come when I woke up to an empty bed in the morning.