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There was a pregnant pause as everyone in the room stared at me like my tits were out and I was crazy. Both were true. Of course, I hated my scars and low-key suffered crippling anxiety, but I wasn’t about to tell the evil queen that.
There was one universal truth to life: no one looked elegant after a chop to the trachea.
He could also run for five minutes without wanting to die, which was impressive and not relatable.
I wanted to own her, possess her, protect her. I wanted to brand her name across my black heart, carve her name into my flesh so she wouldn’t feel alone in her scars.
No way was I flashing people for free. They better at least pay me first. It was called knowing your worth and having class.
Period Sadie 💁🏼♀️
“Not dead yet, bitch.” I made a duck face and held up two peace signs.
Iconic
Either there was something wrong with me, or men were generally unwell and at the root of all problems in society. It was definitely the latter.
I was going to go off on a mental limb and guess that this man had never had sex. Blockhead dude gave off big virgin energy.
Whose mans was this?
My favorite line
Rationally, it didn’t matter, and I was a bad bitch who didn’t need a man. Irrationally, I was a woman who just wanted to get railed and told I was pretty.
RELATABLE
