Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

He has dimples. Fuck me. Not cool.

God, he’s mean. Why do I like it?

The dickhead just assumes that I’ll follow him. Well. He's right.

And then I take off toward the steps, needing air as much as I need fucking Jesus in my life.

Wow. That’s fucked up. I need to find a therapist when I get home.

“It’s Nemo!” she screeches excitedly.