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When she’d finally come out, I’d followed her here where I’d hovered out of sight for another few hours, watching her and trying to learn anything I could. I’d wanted to go in, but I’d figured that showing up at her workplace right after she’d seen me at the kitchen might have sent off stalker signals I wasn’t going for at the moment.
"at the moment"
oh jesus, i didn't think it was possible to love someone more than ari, but then there was walker, and now there's camden. holy hell, i love these unhinged men so fucking much
“Is that a tattoo?” she asked shakily once she’d recovered the ability to speak. It was indeed a tattoo. That picture I’d taken of my blood-streaked dick right after I’d taken her virginity...I’d had my tattoo artist replicate it. All the drops and striations of where her blood had stained my dick were now immortalized forever on my skin.
The music crescendoed, and I threw myself into a series of intricate movements, ones I shouldn’t have been doing on my best day with the state of my leg. Sweat dripped down my brow, mingling with the tears that streaked my cheeks.
ugh why do people do this??? yes, let's dance because you can't live without it, except if you keep doing this, you'll damage your leg irreparably and then...spoiler! never dance again!