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Deep down, I knew he was a monster, but I thought he was my monster.
Xero. Xero Greaves spent his last day on death row alone and miserable because of me and my cowardice. Grief hits me like a tsunami, making my legs buckle. My knees hit the wet tiles, and I gasp out a sob. Pain spreads across my heart, overshadowing the rawness around my throat. “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper through tears.
A normal woman wouldn’t become infatuated with the mugshot of a killer. A normal woman also wouldn’t send said killer letters every other day, accept his gifts, or his proposal of marriage.
My other hand twitches toward the dildo Xero commissioned from a mold of his erection,
WHAT LMAO
Three things hit me at once. One. The corpse I buried last night has found its way back into my home. Two. I really need to take my meds. Three. I’ve already forgotten the third.
P.S. Most women spray their letters with perfume. You’re the first who has scented the paper with their pussy. Brava.
The red velvet cake I ordered for Xero and me to enjoy after the wedding has a hole in its side and is covered in white streaks. It almost looks like someone stuck their dick into it and came all over its surface.
“Her roommate found her dead. It was horrible. She choked on a dildo. Suffocated. How the hell does something like that even happen?”
Oh thats funny lmao
