Selena's POV:
After I cried for a few good minutes on Satan because of the pain he got me into with his f*****g d**k, I’ve got a cushion, that the bastard gave me per my orders, and I’m now sitting on the chair on a side of my butt, still sore, trying to f*****g eat a ham frittata, a small bagel, my latte and orange juice. Of course, my Pepsi, too. I feel like throwing up because of my state and don’t really want to eat, but I need that for my diabetes and energy. I feel like s**t.
“Feeling better, baby?” Satan asks me, but I can’t look at him. I think I’ll murder him with my fork if I look at him.
Waves of coldness, soreness, dirtiness, anger, heartbreak, crying cross my body at once. Even his voice is profane on me.
I f*****g hate you! Motherfucker! You f*****g killed me last nigh
