Lately being whored out by you is what gets me to climax. The thought of it. Probably because it means 1) attention on me 2) I am useful to you 3) it’s degrading and I love it 4) it means I belong to you.

The sentence “I wanna be the whore you throw to the dogs to work off all your debt” is what did it right now.

I really loved it. Also split me in half, daddy, wondering what you ever want me to do with Xavier…neither of us are into black guys, though. Hmm. I wonder if you’d use that as extra degradation or just be like nah not happening.

I just want to be useful

I don’t know how to be useful except as a fuckslut

I get hatefucked on Zoom in front of a bunch of ours (yours) tweaker friends. You even use a fucking machine so you don’t have to touch me. You’re pissed. I constantly am annoying you. You troublesome slut, you say in real life or is it just in my head, I’ve lost track.

Everything is whatever I’m just a junkie whore that never leaves her room. Addicted to you and everything you want me to chase.

***

I really feel so much stabler in my life when I feel loved. I want to make you feel loved. Can you give me four things a day that would earn me a “thanks for being a good obedient slut for me, it’s amazing you can use anything in your head besides your eyes to look at me while you beg me to fuck you…watering eyes gagging on whatever dick I choose to use on you and fuck your brains out in..” or “be a good girl for daddy”

They can be everyday things like. Idk. But I just really need to be told that stuff, I promise it would be make me less crazy and I’d feel loved, so I wouldn’t interrupt your social life yah know?

***

Violence was a language I learned from her but I was still playing a role, I was playing Parker. I was playing the bad guy. I was so tired of being the victim cuz that shit gets old real fast. I told her to stay still and lightly cut her neck, making sure not to go deep. I wanted decoration, for people to know I was there, that she did this to people, made them bad. She got up. Rewind. She came in. She had drugs and I didn’t so I let her in. She had stolen Parker’s knives and put them in a Billie Eilish Stance sock I had gotten her off Poshmark. Where are my knives? I asked her, loud enough so she’d hear me over her headphones and insufferable, always there, Zoom call. In my bag, she said, without looking away from the screen. I loved those knives, I could see why she stole them. Spiderco knives. They felt light in my hand, like nothing, they cut so easily, I remember my mouth making an o when I saw the inside of her arm, it was gross. And then I said the same exact thing Parker said to me. When he saw my face after eight hours of us…there is no name I want to call it. Wow, I really fucked you up huh? That looks really bad. In his Valley-blonde way. My eye looked like it had almost popped out or something, like I was one last punch away from that one ero-guro everyone has seen. That looks really bad, I said, sarcastically, mocking Parker, but she didn’t know that. Acerbic. You should get some help, I added.

After she saw my look of disgust, she looked, and…what’s a good way to say she looked horrified, like she didn’t know her body could do that?

I had sliced paper with the knives before, loving how sharp they were. I drew a line on her shoulder, lightly, like a painter. It opened her skin up.

When I put the knife to her neck, I remembered the way Parker put the same knife to my thighs. Slowly. Delicately. Softly almost not touching, like magic red lines would appear later.

On the bed. In the closet. In the corner of the kitchen. In the bathtub, where I watch him set fire to kill the ants on the counter.

The last time I wanted to live was when he tried to kill me.

***

Beyond the Rubicon. I’m like a little girl. I split my legs apart and then my heart can be split open as well.