Papillon

Papillon Sonia Palermo P apillon Copyright © 2023 by Sonia Palermo All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a piece of fiction. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Book Cover by Graphic Escapist Editing by Charlie Knight cknightwrites.com/editing Contents Content Note Dedication 1. Millie 2. Zain 3. Millie 4. Millie 5. Millie 6. Millie 7. Millie 8. Zain 9. Millie 10. Zain 11. Millie 12. Zain 13. Millie 14. Millie 15. Zain 16. Millie 17. Millie 18. Zain 19. Zain 20. Millie 21. Zain 22. Millie 23. Millie 24. Zain 25. Millie 26. Millie Acknowledgments Also By Sonia Palermo About Author Content Note Some content within this novella may be disturbing or triggering for some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Subjects include mental illness, parental loss (off page/past), postpartum psychosis (off page/past), self-immolation (off page/past), suicide, self-harm (cutting), self-harm (burning), drowning (on page), alcohol and drug use, smoking, mention of foster care, medically-induced coma, graphic sexual scenes, BDSM, and strong language. Any character depicted in a sexual scene is at least 18 years of age. This book should not be used as a reference or guide for safe BDSM practices. Kinks include erotic degradation and humiliation, exhibitionism, praise, spitting, breeding, katoptronophilia, CNC, stalking, somnophilia, blood play, and impact play. To the ones who embrace their darkness. Stay metal. 1 Millie J UNE 20, 2012 My world ended long before 2012 began. Before the promise of apocalypse. Before I had my first drink. Before I smoked my first joint, had my first kiss, first fuck. Probably before I was even born. The doctors said it was suicide that killed my mother. It wasn’t. Every cause has effect. Suicide was the effect—not the cause—of why she doused herself in petrol and sparked a match when I was less than one month old. I don’t remember being burned, but the raised, uneven tissue that runs up my right leg, where I was too close to the fire, and the scars in my DNA prove it was real. And now I’m bound to the same ill-fated end. Everything about this forsaken life has been one long, fucked-up ride. And I’m far from willing to hang around to see how 2 Zain One in ten looked-after children are reported missing every year. I am the one in ten. Or, rather, the body I share is. Zain Hawkins was seventeen years old and drinking himself into an early grave when he ran away from a care home. When he returned a month later, he wasn’t the same boy. I guess by society’s standards, I’m a monster for being a soul-swapping body snatcher. But what I’m really doing is giving these humans a second chance at life. It’s easy to occupy someone else’s body when the people around them don’t give a shit about truly knowing them. Some might say that being an empath is a blessing; others call it a curse. Sure, I’ve seen both sides—being one myself. I’ve seen all its ugliness, but when it’s beautiful, it’s glorious. For millennia, I’ve collected, nurtured, and prepared lost souls