The Love Child of Hatred and *** Mysteries

I take another drag of my cigarette as you stir awake. I turn to you and smile, but you merely return a glare. I give you a questioning face and you motion to the cigarette in my left hand.

“What you crashed after cuming the third time,” I smirk, proud of myself, you give me a hit, ”and I was left to my own thoughts, and it kinda hit me that I killed two people in cold blood. I needed to relax.”

“Not in my room.” You were always bitchy after sex. I go to put it out on my leg but you stop me. “Not after 2 years of reprimand for self harm.” I sigh.

“Then where?” You point across to your bookshelf.

“I have an ashtray in there, somewhere.” I give you a questioning look. “What I’m a pyro, I didn’t want to burn down the house.”

I reach across to retrieve it as you ask “so where’d you get those anyway?”

“I stuck some under your mattress incase I ever needed them.” You give me another hit to the shoulder as I smother the half finished cigarette into the ashes of the tray and replace it on the shelf.

“What? So I’m not allowed to smoke, but you are.” You never remember even though I tell you every time.

“I have an un-addictive behavior. I can use them once a month and not get addicted.” You sigh and I look at your pretty face. Suddenly I decide I’m the luckiest person in the world and cuddle up to you, draping my arm around your middle and nuzzling my head into your chest. You wrap your arm around my
shoulder possessively and we both drift off to sleep.

And like every fairytale

The lesbians lived happily

Ever

After.

The end.