The boy is like that. He will cheat on me, even though he knows what he can and can’t do, because he is trying to prove that inane pedantic validity of one of stupid points that rides on nothing but a technicality. Wtf, you’d really put your dick on the line to prove a point? You’d put me on the line to prove a point? I’m fairly sure one day he will.
This exercise, today, and perhaps yesterday, is beginning to frustrate me a little bit. There’s never quite enough time to get into anything, but still it’s too big a chunk of time to take away from everything else, especially when there’s a lot of everything else. It’s giving me anxiety, the hot, slim sword pressed dangerously hard in the space between my sternum and my heart.