A/N: My muse who happens to be crunk 90 percent of the time told me to write this.
Day Thirty-Five: Somewhere around 10 PM. Location: Hiding in Julia's closet.
The reason why I'm hiding in her closet is because she's been taking some meth and is trying to get me naked to romp me like some animal. Good thing her walk-in closet has a lock on the door.
"Oh REEEENOO," She calls to me, in a sickeningly-high voice, that reminded me of when Gramma wanted me to rub her feet LONG ago. "Come on out and I'll show you a good time…"
I'm scared. The only time I was this scared was when Grandma first bought her double-barrel shotgun when I was twelve, and she wanted to be William Tell. I stood shaking with an apple on my head as she took careful aim. Let's just say that I didn't have a hairline since.
So, the last time I saw Julia, which was about a half hour ago, she had that skin-tight shiny black leather getup and the whip and the handcuffs and all the shiny anal beads and all.
Scary anal beads.