...they'll hurt me bad but I don't care/they'll hurt me bad/they do it all the time, yeah yeah....
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The question was never "if" he would hurt me, but when, and in what form.
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Song of cicadas loud in my ears.
"Would you sleep with my husband? Please?"
The questions my friends think to ask me. I search her for signs of laughter, desperately sorting through possible answers.
"I, uh... I don't think that would make any of us happy."
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I am kind of enjoying my teensy white underthings today, particularly the T-shirt I borrowed from Fluffy, having no white shirts of my own. It is just barely sufficient to not get me arrested.
Unless I sweat, at which point incarceration becomes inevitable.
Be gentle with me, Officer.
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