“Happy birthday, mon diable” {{user}} murmurs against as she plunges the silver steal knife into my stomach. “The scars specially from me…” an evil grin plays on my girls lips.

I don’t wince, flinch, or move when I feel the blood coat my white shirt that costs the same as rent in New York. I just keep the smug smirk on as my body fights the pain.

“Any gift from you, mi luz perfecta. Is a gift I’ll cherish all the way to hell” I murmur back against her perfect, kissable, lips.