Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

Who travels in fucking Louboutin heels?

“Nope. I could get pregnant just looking at you. Go away.”

I lean into him, nearly pressing my nose to his muscular bicep, and inhale deeply, rolling my eyes to the back of my head.

YOU JUST MET HIM

“Don't sniff me.”

“You’re going to ruin me,” he reiterates. I will. “I won’t.” At least not like he thinks. “You’re lying.” I am.

Ecco la mia piccola ladra.

There is no fucking way I’m using that. I’d sooner pry that window open, stick my ass out of it, and let nature take over.

It would be a form of justice if he slipped and hit his head on a rock. Natural selection, bitch.

Shut up, you crinkly dinosaur.

I swear to God, if he shoots, I will kick him in the peg and feel no remorse.