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Christ. So much pink.
I’m as unlovable as I am untouchable. So why the fuck is she now touching me?
“Who did this to you?” she whispers.
“What did he look like?” she presses. “Or she,” she quickly adds, clamping her hand to her mouth. “Sorry, that was so sexist of me. Would you recognize them if you saw them again? If he—or she!—is
But she’s not even listening, let alone looking as though she’s about to fuck off.
Not only does she not understand the concept of personal safety and personal space, but to top it all off, she’s a fucking optimist.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
“You hear that all the time.” “Yes, but tell me again.”
“You’re actually going to die, aren’t you?” “I will with that attitude.”
It sounds like sunshine and helium, light and loud enough to float over the lawn, penetrate the bulletproof window, and land on my sternum like a weak punch.
There must have been something in that drink, because before common sense can stop me, I tap his channel on my watch and bring it to my mouth. “Share the joke, Arben. I could use a good laugh today.”
Then, before I can stop myself, I add, “Tell me everything you know about her.”
I’d fired the first shot because the thought of another man seeing what I was seeing made me feel violent. The second shot was at the light because I wasn’t worthy of seeing it myself.
like the little space invader she is.
she’s the reason he’s taken first place on my fire-starting dickhead list tonight.
