I was going to send another motherfucking basket to her room this morning, as I had every single day since Arabella sucked me off on the last day of school. At first, I’d sent chocolate, because I didn’t want it to be too obvious, but I figured she’d know where they came from on her birthday when I sent brownies. They were handmade and in different shapes, for her entertainment. Clouds, unicorns, stars, animals, letters. Anything but a heart—that was my careful instruction to the chocolatier. Each was individually wrapped in fantasy-book wrappers: Lord of the Rings, A Song of Ice and Fire,
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I KNEWWWWW IT WAS HIM OMGGGG
