“So…are you ever going to tell me what the whole mutilating yourself thing was about,” mumbled Travis in a solemn tone. I froze and he immediately glanced up. I couldn’t bear to tell him. What could I tell him? I was envisioning my ex-boyfriend taking advantage of me. Ravaged me without my consent and against…
For lo and behold this myth they’ve sprung up, about the girl that was good enough, but you see, she was not.
I’ve been trying for a while to get away but much to my dismay, it’s not as easy as I thought it’d be.
Why do we fear death? Is it because we don’t understand it or is it because we don’t know what happens once you die?