Her question stupefies my senses, was she expecting me to die, “ it's was a joke Sinclair “ I stutter out as the scene of her srabhing the hell out of me comes back to my mind she's a psycho and I know it.
“ don't joke around”
“Noted” she concluded, moving hurriedly on the sheets, the deem light from the lamp just beside my bed shines slowly on her face, reflecting the endless stream of tears pooling down the corner of her eyes, her nostrils slightly wet, with a dent of red as well.
“ how does the murder of your ex f**k boy make a s*x queen like you honor my bed with your presense” I know it sounds poetic to an extent but I would have said something similar seeing queen Elizabeth in my bed.
“ seeing you on the stripping stage brought back memories”
“ of good or evil?” I had to ask,
