Fúcking myself because my neighbor told me to. (2) Diana’s POV His eyes are not innocent when they scan the apartment, darting from place to place like he’s looking for evidence to nail me into the coffin of blame. Nothing pops out to him. Nothing he can immediately hold me on a leash for, so he turns to me and asks a question that catches me off guard. “You were pleasing yourself?” But even that is a statement, not a question. It requires me to stew in my own guilt, silent and agreeable. He walks up to me when I admit my indulgence with silence.
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