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Someone needed to take care of his mental health the cheap way—hit him over the head with a shovel
Dorean was the type of woman I aspired to be. Strong. Bold. Intimidating. Able to verbalize her intrusive thoughts. It was dead silent in the library because only a handful of students were granted access after the incident—Dorean had caught Jake Dalmer getting a hand job under a desk, and she’d shot him in the penis. Point-blank. No hesitation. Thus my hero.
During the day, the feminine urge to lead a fictional revolt plagued me. At night, nightmares once again tore me to pieces.
“Why am I actually so lame?” I whispered to Nyx, wishing I could swear like a sailor. A thin tongue flicked against my cheek. “I fear it’s my fault for sheltering you,” Nyx said seriously. “I should have bullied you more. Instead, I let you grow up into a weirdo. I’m sorry.” I choked.
“Perfect,” Helen squealed. “I’m a genius. Everyone’s gonna lose it when they see you.” She clapped. “Cunt—absolute cunt, served.” Excuse me? What did she just call me? Youth culture was upsetting.
