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You taste like fucking opium.
I’d love to be gone. I’d give anything to be gone. Let me be gone.
The slant of his handwriting is the sort you see from psychopaths. Ink is splotched everywhere. It’s almost as messy as his life, and it’s riddled with things she’d never have known from looking at him.
The slant of his handwriting is the sort you see from psychopaths. Ink is splotched everywhere. It’s almost as messy as his life, and it’s riddled with things she’d never have known from looking at him.
She hasn’t slept.
How could she? With both the past and the future colliding inside her head? Thinking about the touches he’s already given and the hate he’s going to give when he finds out?
It’s the first time she acknowledges that she doesn’t want him to hate her.
It’s also the first time she acknowledges that kissing him was…different.
How could she? With both the past and the future colliding inside her head? Thinking about the touches he’s already given and the hate he’s going to give when he finds out?
It’s the first time she acknowledges that she doesn’t want him to hate her.
It’s also the first time she acknowledges that kissing him was…different.
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