She touched her hair and frowned. Had she even showered? The week had been hazy. She remembered that the latest hookup wanted no condom, and she had almost said yes. Probably the next time, she wouldn’t be such a stuck-up bitch, right? The voices in her head were getting louder and louder. Who do you think you are? Freak. Ugly. You’re just another random queer. If you died, no one would care.
The brevity in which she deploys despair is jarring
