As she tucked a cigarette in her mouth and lit it without the aid of matches or a lighter, she asked me, "The fuck do you want, Frank?" "Good to see y...u-" "Cut the shit. I'm in no mood for your lame jokes." I drew a deep breath. "Since when do you smoke?" "Since when do you give a fuck whether I smoke?" she asked, inhaling deeply. The cherry on the end of the cigarette flared. "Ain't likely to kill me, is it? Not like we're normal." From someone else, that would have sounded like a boast. Making me feel like a worthless piece. Why do I want nothing more than to be yours? My body aching, just wanting to feel your love. My teeth stay smashed into my lip, trying to stay quiet, so as to not make you mad, just wanting to please you, day in and day out, but getting nothing in return. Your hand on my head, my eyes shooting their glance to you while soft purrs fill my throat, eyes glancing between lips and eyes, making me blush and bite my lip in embarrassment. Why can’t I be myself. More

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