The petite blonde dabs more make-up onto the flawless brown-skinned canvas that is Karma. Like the girl needs that bullshit. She’s a knock-out when she rolls out of bed. She sits still as a statue, a fake smile plastered on her full lips. She’s playing their game. They buy her lies, but I can tell she doesn’t like it. It’s a means to an end. This bitch doesn’t belong here any more than I do. There’s shit inside her none of these assholes would understand. Then where does she belong? With me? I scoff at my musings. Too much time in close quarters is making me form a soft spot where she’s concerned. Still, I know a fellow walking wounded when I see one. Maybe that’s why I can’t get her out of my damn mind. She burrowed her way into my ‘give a shit’ zone, and stayed there like a fucking splinter. I’ve been shadowing her for forty-eight hours, and she hasn’t pissed me off once. It’s a record and an anomaly. I want to explore it and her.
