“Th-that was my mom. He– um, he died. M-my uncle… he died.”
“That’s terrible, sweetie. Take off your blouse.”
“I’m not— I’m not sure about everything… anything, really, but he was in an accident. In a car. Accident.”
“Oh no, I hope he didn’t suffer. And the bra, too, genius.”
“Didn’t I— what?”
“I said that I hope he didn’t suffer. And told you to get your fucking tits out.”
“Yes. No. I mean— he didn’t suffer. She said it was… instantaneous.”
“Was anyone else hurt? Now the pants.”
“Christina. She— mom said Christina was in the car with him.”
“Is she going to be okay? Those panties are ugly, by the way; get rid of them, or I’ll set them on fire with you in them.”
“Pl-please, no, not now. Can we, please? Not? This is just not—”
“I asked how Christina is doing. I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Yeah. Okay. She’s in the hospital, on a machine. There’s— I guess there’s swelling or whatever, in her brain.”
“Poor baby. They’re doing amazing things with head injuries these days, so I’m sure she’s going to get better. You, meanwhile, just keep getting worse. I can smell your cunt, way over here.”
“Should I– do I need to shower or something? Now?”
“I wish, but no, I don’t have the time. And no shower will ever really get you clean, will it?”
“I… no, you’re right. You’re always right. I’m sorry I stink.”
“You should be; you really should. So, do they know what caused the accident?”
“They don’t. Or Mom doesn’t, at least.”
“What does that mean?”
“I feel like– it feels like I should be on my knees.”
“It’s that sort of keen insight that makes me wonder how you can be such a constant disappointment.”
copyright © 2016 BedtimeStoriesForBrokenGirls.com
I hate getting wet to shit like this
My favorite kind of mixed review. I love throwing a woman’s libido into a pit with her dignity and watching them fight it out.