He smelled like alcohol and a bad dream.
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You must be a blast on long car rides.”
“Oh, I am. You haven't experienced fun until you try to fuck in the front seat of a Civic.
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No. I made that choice. I let all that anger and pain get twisted up in my thoughts for you.” He leaned in. “It fucking kills me. Every night. I relive what I did to you every night.” His forehead rested against mine. “Until you,” he said softly, “I never felt truly helpless.
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All right,” she said a little sarcastically. “I was going to assume you liked eating babies and sacrificing virgins, but I might as well ask, what do you do for fun?”
“I languish in sin,” I replied in the same tone. “I take my babies rare, and my virgins over easy.
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It should all feel splendid. You tell me if it doesn't, and I shall rectify the situation.
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You mean you don't want to come in and hold my hand while I piss?
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You just think lovely wonderful thoughts," Peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air.
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