“I wanted to say something good, something better, something real. I wanted to say I know what it’s like to lose yourself. To feel alone, like nothing and no one in the world can touch you, even if you want… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“Call me a pussy if you want. Delusional, impractical, whatever. But, I know myself, and that shit’s called survival. The bad in me, it… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“If slapping and sparring with someone who was so damn good at pushing my buttons I wanted to choke them counted as romance, then… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“He was already everywhere. In my bed, in my sheets, sprawled on my couch— he was a ghost before he even left, a memory… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“It wasn’t something I craved too often. Never like I wanted it now. I’d never craved being filled up with someone else just so… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“On whose fucking authority had I become interested in spanking? I tried taking stock of my brain and my gut and my dick, but… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“I wanted to say something good, something better, something real. I wanted to say I know what it’s like to lose yourself. To feel… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“I hadn’t been anywhere like this since high school, since Brett’s house. It had been gross with excess, but this place was fucking hideous.… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“My wires weren’t just crossed, they were tangled up like a box of Christmas lights, all knots and broken glass, blinking and shorting out… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“I jammed it down in my gut alongside all the other guilt I was already packing, put on my rock star face, and pretended… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“I pushed myself up off the floor, grabbing the boxes and dishes and cups, trying to make myself look busy instead of terrified.” — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“I can sense it on you right now, you know. Paycheck to paycheck, that’s a disease, and you have it. You’re literally worthless. And… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
“I gave my reflection another onceover, pretending I wasn’t gauging hotness levels because that did not fucking matter. Still, I ran my hand through… — Misha Horne Copy Share Image
