Love in the Time of Serial Killers

by Alicia Thompson

She should’ve been relieved that I was getting my sex education that way instead of porn.

Lately it felt like my entire life was one big AITA thread and the answer was always yes, it’s me, I’m the asshole.

I was bitter, but not vindictive.

When in doubt, I liked to state the obvious.

Things got so much more complicated when you actually cared if someone sent you a text, or accepted an invitation, or wanted to hang out.

“You know I have a black, mistrustful pit where my heart is supposed to be.”

I’d never admit this out loud, but sometimes I was grateful to people who were automatic huggers. It took the pressure off me to initiate anything, and it felt nice, being embraced even for a few seconds by someone you cared about.