Loving My Darkness: Why I Couldn't Walk Away From Judas By Chelsea Maya Johnson
The Day My Light Met His Dark The sweat from the double shot of clear vodka trickled down the glass, pooling on the low table under the dim amber lights of his room. Next to it sat a single, sharp slice of lemon, and right beside that, something even stronger that I couldn't quite identify. It was Judas's unspoken invitation for me to strip away my innocence and step over the line into his world. I looked at the table, then looked up into his eyes, shaking my head steadily. "I don't drink," I told him, my voice cutting through the heavy, tense atmosphere of the room. He didn’t look disappointed at all. Instead, a slow, calculated grin spread across his rich, dark face. He let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated in my chest. "You're a good boy, huh, Chelsea?" Before I could answer, he reached into his pocket and brought out a cigarette, clicking his lighter. Instinct took over me. I reached out, quickly snapped the cigarette right out ...

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