nut

“I look at the photos again, the ones I didn’t delete. I look at his purple face, his bloody chin and nipple, his swollen cheeks. I wonder what the fuck I have to do for people to recognise me as a threat, you know? It’s like... am I even doing this shit? Have I even fucking done anything?”
― Eliza Clark, Boy Parts

“do I have to snap the wine bottle inside him to get him to stop sending me sad emails? Do I have to cut his nipple off for him to realise he should probably ring the police? Do I have to cave his head in with my camera, rather than hit him the once? Do I have to crash his car? Do I have to smash a glass over the head of every single man I come into contact with, just so I leave a fucking mark?”
― Eliza Clark, Boy Parts

“Do I have to smash a glass over the head of every single man I come into contact with, just so I leave a fucking mark?”
― Eliza Clark, Boy Parts

“have a photo of each leg, each arm, and his torso: all these boy parts, which I can arrange on my living room floor like a jigsaw.”
― Eliza Clark, Boy Parts