This was far from over.My feet had wings. I ran so fast I could hear the wind whistling past my ears.I ran down Dennis Ave, and then stopped. I skidde... down the river bank to sit on the shore. I curled up in a semi-fetal position, my arms wrapped around my knees, and stared into the rushing water in front of me.I was crying. I couldn’t face anything. Hobos are strong? Bullshit.I’m weak. So god damned weak. It doesn’t take strength to deal with the problems of others’ creation, really. You can. "Please," I beg but he refuses to answer, he denies me any release but pushes me to edge continuously, dip and climb, wave after wave. I feel the audience shift their attention."They prefer you over her, the modest woman, the quiet one screaming for me to fuck her." I dig my nails into his arm and grit my teeth seeking desperately my release but he pulls out of me then. He knew. Such talent and awareness he used knowing I'd do damn near anything for him to finish me off. My insecurity with. More

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