“Do you want this?” She asks me.
How am I meant to know if I want this? How am I meant to know what’s right in these situations?
“It’s not about what’s right, it’s about what’s good.” She says, reading the look on my face. I look her up and down.
“There’s nothing about this that’s good.”
“Not morally. Fuck morals, fuck ethics.” She commands, her voice is stern but her face relaxed. “I mean good for you.” She smiles when she says this, her lip curls and she’s gorgeous and, just to top it off, when it’s done curling she bites down on it, and looks up at me through her eyelashes. “Why deny yourself something you want so badly?”
I don’t think there’s an answer to that question, if there is I definitely don’t understand enough about anything to be able to answer it – not even myself.
I take what she’s offering – how can I not? I put it in my pocket, and that’s that.
Before this I’d never stolen, and before this I’d never done anything under the influence of anyone else, but she had a flower in her hair.
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