It was just a mistake. I am a petty individual. And now? A dead man walking.
I didn't mean to mess with Fae Mason-Rae. She came off as the stepping stone to every instigator's success. I fear leaving my own house over her existence.
Yesterday
Fae's hair was auburn. Cut in a bob, a fucking out-of-style bob, her large tits hanging out of her tight low cut top to compliment and tie together her get up. She might as well have slit her wrists and painted her white skirt with her own blood to add a unique pattern to it — just to make herself unable to be imitated. Because that was what Fae encapsulated, a tragic targetable anomaly existing within a society at the same rate it hid.
I couldn't help myself. I wanked every moment I possibly could to her; she was so beautiful. But she was dying. I would do anything to break the curse I live in day in day out called the insanity of enjoying watching her.
When I broke her heart for the first time I think we were as young as sixteen and fourteen. We dated for a month. Those teenage relationships don't count for shit. Either way, we associated, held hands and fucked for thirty filthy days. By the end my soul contract had expired and it was over. Couldn't just overstay a visit where I'd not properly love her for the rest of her sad life.
So stupidly how I ended it. "Oh, sorry, Fae, I can't show up to your place this weekend and I never will again."
—
Just waiting on my coke dealer. She crosses my mind. That moron….