by Charlotte Amelia

“You know you’ll never fuck me, right?” She says carefully, her tone light but her face serious.

“I never – ” I begin.

“I know, you never thought about it. It’s what every boy says. But I wanted you to know. Because people – people don’t always understand. They have an idea in their head, of me, of what I am and what I do. And I need you to know, I don’t do that. I don’t fuck around with people,” she’s serious now, every ‘fuck’ rolling off her tongue like a blunt instrument falling to the ground.

“I wouldn’t,” I say.

“Wouldn’t you?” She smiles slightly, sadly.

“Never,” I say, lying through my teeth. Of course I would, in a second, yes, I would, if only she liked me the way I liked her.

“Don’t make a liar of yourself. It’s a sad way to live a life,” she says.

“Then don’t ask me impossible questions,” I say.

“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” She asks, and I begin to wonder if she’s not entirely right about that.

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