Aiden takes his time--he's slow, he's patient--and he knows he smells like cigarettes and marijuana, though Heather tastes of corrupted innocence. It's beautiful, really. She's beautiful.

And all Aiden can think of is the screams of his mother, wondering if Heather sounds exactly the same.

When he pulls away he touches her bottom limb with his thumb, gently--his own is split but he didn't seem to even acknowledge the pain from Mike earlier--and the lazy smile turns into a smirk.

"You're on my side, right, Heather?"