She doesn't want me to die anymore, and I don't think I can actually help it. Just as sure as Bebe has boobs, I will die. Being fifteen brought nothing but passion, and drama into my fucking miserable life. I'm so sick of dealing with everyone, sometimes I wish I was down in hell, eating chocolate and watching Oprah with Damian. Then again, that almost sounds like a punishment. Can I ever win? Maybe I can convert to Mormon, all Mormons go to heaven don't they?
Although I love making fun of her, and teasing her, Bebe is mine. Mine to hold, to cherish, to love… and all that crap… Damian's convinced that the only reason I love her is she has a hot body (Which I can no longer deny) and that's she's giving me more sex them him. Whenever he says something like this, I cannot help but laugh at his raging innocence.
I'm straight, Thank you. But there's a quality about Damian, that, brings me to his knees, constantly. (Not to be taken in a dirty way, you fucking perverts!)