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| [Purity] |
He wonders if he had another son—older, a confidante—if he would have the balls to tell him.
A man has needs.
“I love your mom very much,” he’d say, “but there are things she wouldn’t understand.”
Things he doesn’t want her to.
All of the sick shit he sees every day. It sticks to him, worms its way under his skin, rippling just beneath the surface. Waiting.
And then she came along.
They hated each other—that made it easier. Bending her over that ostentatious desk and fucking her atop important documents—that made it better. Returning home, planting reverent kisses in his sleeping wife’s hair—that made it all right.
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Feedback is a fangirl's best friend.
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