Eva called me about a week ago. When I realized who it was, I didn't really even want to talk to her. I felt I had put so much effort into helping her, but her ignorance and denial were really startin...
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I haven't talked to Eva; she hasn't contacted me since I left the pamphlets on rape and counseling on her bed. I've gone to more meetings, and I've started to swing by the Women's Center to help out.
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It's been three days since it all happened. Eva claims that she is fine, but I have my doubts. She hasn't been herself - she's been really quiet.
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She was a mess; her hair was all matted, mascara everywhere, her eyes were puffy, red and soaked with tears. She was shaking. It was bad.
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It's four o'clock in the morning and all I can think is that if I had just let her borrow my leather pants this never would have happened. So I guess I should start at my house.
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"+"
“dusty rusty crusty musty ass california hills”
“frowning in plaid (haunted radios, bird bones + anthropomorphized wind)”
“warming my hands on bridges i’ve burnt”
“songs that make me see god”
“My Playlist #236”
“classy wine moment and intellectual conversation”
“90s heroin chic model off duty”
“tweet tweet bird emoji map emoji”
“not my circus, not my monkeys”
“a grave is probably cheaper than an apartment”
“ATE THESE BITCHES LEFT NO CRUMBS / DID IT IN DESIGNER PUMPS”
