A Reason To Live, A Reason To Die (Part 1) by Jaramya Rattle

A Reason To Live, A Reason To Die (Part 1) by Jaramya Rattle A Reason To Live, A Reason To Die (Part 1) by Jaramya Rattle

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


A drug addicted prostitute falls in love with a guy who has a bunch of mental disorders.


A drug addicted prostitute falls in love with a guy who has a bunch of mental disorders.


Submitted: February 13, 2013

A A A | A A A


Submitted: February 13, 2013



Part one: Responsibility


Chapter one


Edgar Alan Poe once wrote, "Sleep, those little slices of death. How I loath them." Personally, I dissagree with Poe. I love those "little slices." They let me escape, and kill time untill I can reach the final big slice.

So I do what I love. I drug my self to sleep as often as I can. Unfortanatly I can't sleep all the time. After all I have responsibilities. Responsibilities like the two jobs I work. My "day job" is as a waitress at a local diner called Crandel's. As for my night job, well, I work as a strumpet . I love the fact that I make so much money for doing mostly no work, but I hate the fact that I have to fuck beer-gutted truckers with small dicks. I wish the Johns I picked up were more like the Johns in the films, actually shagable. I mean the Johns in the Hollywood hooker films aren't very attractive but they are better than the ugly tossers I pick up. I prefer feeble exhausted drug addict looking men. It's not just because I'm a heroin addict myself. I've always found men like that atrractive. Which I don't only do heroin it's just my drug of choice. I do any drugs I can get my hands on, spliff, meth, coke, you name it. I guess I fit the drug addicted hooker cliche.

I work at a brothel with a few other girls and our "pimp" Jason. I'm not even sure if Jason is his real name but he certainly doesn't fit the pimp cliche. He is very calm and caring man. He hasen't once hit any of us or even rasied his voice at us. Even if we didn't pay him his cut he wouldn't get mad. I have done it a few times and he just said, -"I don't mind if you do it a few times just don't get used to it."

Unlike a lot of pimps, he lets us know that we are free to go anytime we wish. There are only five of us: Riley, Brooke, Faye, Ariel, and me. By the way, my name is Liz. Riley is hispanic and somewhere in her early twenties. She has long black hair that reaches a little bit past her elbows when she stands up straight. She is very beautiful. Brooke is the oldest of the bunch. She is in her late thirties. I seem to remember her telling me she was thirty-eight but I'm not one-hundred percent sure. She has blonde hair about to her shoulders and bright green eyes. I like her. Her being the oldest of us, she has this sort of motherly care to her and is the closest thing to a mother a lot of us have. Faye is the youngest of us, she is only 16. She has beautiful red hair that is about halfway beetween the length of Riley and Brooke's. She has brown eyes and an incredibly cute face that is covered in freckles. I honestly think she is the sexiest girl I have ever seen. I'm not really bi-sexual or into girls that much execept for Faye. We had sex a few times. It was incerdible, yet awkward, not because we are both girls but because she is sixteen and I'm twenty-two. I know it is only a six year difference but the fact that she is underage makes it a little weird. Even so, I keep coming back for more. Ariel is twenty-eight. She has wavy brown hair that is barely long enough to cover her ears. She has hazel eyes and wears heavy black eye makeup. I don't wear makeup at all. I hate the whole idea of make up, to make up what you lack. I hate how much pressure the media puts on women to be beautiful. Why should women have to paint their faces for men to find them shaggable when men don't have to do the same? I can't count how many times I've seen beautiful women with ugly men. Not near as many women find looks as important as most men. I don't think it is fair so I dont wear it. I have black hair with crayola red streaks. It's about the same length as Faye's. I have green eyes and a hideous nose! I hate it! It looks like someone cut a triangle in half and glued it to my face. I know I'm contradicting myself by saying that when I just got done talking about how I think people shouldn't care about physical apperances. But I don't see how any tosser would pay to have sex with an ugly slut like me. I'm very glad they do though cause if they didn't I wouldn't make near as much money and therfore wouldn't be able to support my heroin addiction.

Unfortanatly I can't "work the corner" tonight cause I'm on my period right now. I guess I could work and just give handjobs or blowjobs. You see a guy would freak if I started bleeding on him. I don't see what the big deal is. What's so scary about a little blood? It's funny how some men act like such tough guys yet they freak out over something like menstural blood. It sucks that I can't work nights while I'm on the rag, but i have to admit, I kind of like the break. Actually I'm starting to lose it. I can't stand faking another orgasm to satisfy another fat, sweaty, small cocked trucker. It seems like it has been years since I had a really good orgasm. I tend to squrit a lot when i have an amazing, screaming at the top of my lungs, orgasm. Which makes it that much better in my opinion. The closest thing I've had to an amazing one recently was with Faye. A little bit of cum dripped out which Faye really seemed to enjoy licking up, and I let out a short high pitched moan. It wasn't amazing but it was the best I have had in a while.

I only have enough heroin for my wake up shot. I'm hoping to get enough money in tips to make a quick drug run during my lunch break ( but that probably wont happen). Speaking of work I should probably get ready for it.



I open my eyes and look around the dim room. A thin layer of dim light shines through the thick dusty black shades. My mouth is dry as cotton and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I grab my glass of water from last night and sit up. When my eyes come into focus, I see that Legs and I are the only ones here. I take a drink of my water to sooth my dry mouth so I can actually speak.

-"What time is it?"

Legs looks at his phone.


-"How long have I been out?"

-"About 18 hours or so," he replied.

Legs was my usual dealer. His heroin wasn't really that good but he would give me some for free if I help him sell.

-"I should probably get going," I said.

-"Off to the whore house?"

-"(Laughs) yes, sir," I said as I climbed out of bed.

It wasn't really much of a bed, it was just a dirty blood-stained matress. It certaintly matched the rest of Legs' house. There were holes in the celing, walls, and floor. Trash was all over the place. A pile of burnt spoons, bottle caps and soda cans in the middle of the room. Next to it was a pile of dirty needles. There was also a bag of cotton balls, a candle, and a gallon of water. Everything needed to shoot up was all right there.

Legs was staring at me through his dark eyes. He has messy dirty blonde hair, a five o' clock shadow, and a beergut. His staring started to make me feel uncomfortable.

-"Well, I should probably get going."

-"You already said that," he replied with a goofy grin showing his rotted teeth.

I assume all the rotting is due to the dry mouth he has had over the years of drug abuse.

-"(Laughs) Right, well I'll see you later," I said and walked out the door.

The hallway in the apartment building wasn't in much better shape than Legs' apartment. Outside it was already dark. I realised then that the light I saw through the shades was from a streetlight. It was pretty cold out and I didn't have a jacket.

After walking a several blocks I notice that it is a lot colder then it was when I left Legs' apartment. Im starting to shiver and can see my breath. At least I'm almost there. I turn the corner onto Jason's street and walk into Jason's. What I call "Jason's" is a hotel that he owns and lives in. The sign just says Budget Inn. Most of the girls live here to. The only ones who don't are Faye and Me. Faye is only sixteen and still lives with her so called parents but they dont really care about her and won't even notice is she is gone for days at a time and I useually crash at Legs' or another one of my junkie friends place. There was a young, snooty, blonde girl, about my age working at the counter. I'd seen her here a few times before. She gave me a dirty look as I walked behind the counter to go into Jason's room. She knew what I was here for. Almost every one knew that this place was a whore house. Even the cops knew but Jason payed them off. For that reason I prefered to do all my jobs in one of the rooms here. It was safer that way. I don't have to worry about getting arrested or attacked if I do the job in the hotel. A lot of the times Jason will set up jobs for us. Then all we have to do is go to the room he set the job in and do what we do. I like to think of each customer as nothing more than a job. It makes it easier that way. I walk into Jason's room and he is sittting at his desk reading a book. I can't see the title of it cause he has it sat on the desk.

-"Hey, Liz! How are you today?" he said in an over excited tone.

-"Cold." I responeded, still shivering from being out in the cold.

-"I would be to if I was out in that weather without a jacket! It's a good thing that none of your jobs will be outside of the hotel tonight."

I liked when he had booked jobs for me. The Johns that book "appoinments" are useually way better looking and better smelling than the ones you pick up on the street.

-"He is in room 142, A rich american man." Jason told me.

I walk up to the elevator and push the button. After a short moment it comes down and I get in. Inside the elevator the interior isn't exactly fancy but in pretty good shape. Jason's hotel was that way through the whole thing. I head up to the second floor. When I get there I head down the hall to the left. 138, 140, 142. I knock on the door and wait a few seconds and knock again. A tall man with blonde hair answers the door. He is wearing a fancy suit. At this point I start to feel sick but I must force myself to act like I'm into it. After all I have responsibilities.



Chapter two



I turn my music up but I still can't hear it. No matter how loud I make it, I can't hear it. They don't want me to hear it. They only want me to hear them. Hear them point out every flaw I have.

-"You have no friends! Nobody loves you! You're a waist of life! Just kill yourself and do everyone a favor!"

I used to try to ignore them but now I'm starting to think they are right. Maybe I should. Just end it all. I'd never have to hear a voice, feel anxious, or see things, again. I could just check out and be done with it. The only thing that stops me is the fear of what happens after death. If we just blow out like a candle flame than I would do it. The scary thought is if there is a God, a heaven and a hell, I'm not sure if I would make it into heaven. The worst thing I could imagine is spending an eternity in hell. Sometimes I feel like I already am in hell when the voices get really bad; It's horrible! I can't get away from them. I can't drown them out with music cause they just get louder and louder until they are all that I can hear. I can't run from them. Where ever I go, they follow . They are always with me. I can't get away. They just keep talking and talking and talking. Pointing out every one of my flaws. Reminding me of every mistake I've ever made. Making me hate myself more and more each day.

-"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. "

I whisper as I softly bang my head on my desk. But they keep on going.

-"You're a failure, You always make an idiot of yourself. No one could ever love you."

-"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."

I say it louder this time. But they keep on going. So I keep getting louder and louder and banging my head harder and harder.


I stand up and throw everything off of my desk. I scream and kick my chair down. Everything is burning. Shadows are moving. Three demons come through the door and grab me. I try to fight them off but they are too strong. I bite the arm of the one that is holding me and it lets go. Almost instantly after that the other two grab me hold me down on the floor. Then the one I bit comes up and stabs me in the arm with something. I feel a stinging burn go through my arm and everything seems to fade away.



I wake up laying in my bed. I try to look around the room but as soon as I open my eyes they shut cause the sun shining through the window on the white walls and floor in my room make it really bright. I lay there with my eyes closed for a bit trying to remember what happened last night. I feel exhausted, almost like I had been awake all night. I assume I was sedated lastnight because I always feel exhausted the morning after sedation. A lot of people think sedation is induced sleep but it's actually more like being knocked out. I put my blanket over my head so I can open my eyes. It is still bright but I can at least open my eyes. After my eyes adjust to light under the blanket I come out from under it. I still squint a bit but it is a lot better than before. I get out of bed and go into the small bathroom in my room. After looking in the mirror I see that I need to shave. It's hard to get a close shave with the electric razors the give us here. We aren't allowed to have real razors here cause they are afraid that some of the patients would commit suicide with them. I have to admit that if I had one I probably would. I go over to my desk and see that all the stuff I had on top of it is on the floor. A little bit of last night is coming back to me. I remember the voices bothering me really bad. I pick up my copy of A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. It's my favourite book in the whole world! I've probably read it a hundred times. I sit down and turn to chapter five of part two. I've read it so many times I dont need to start from the beggining. Sometimes I will read it from beggining to end but usually I just start at a random spot. After reading for about thirty minutes, Franco comes in the room. Franco is an orderly here at the hospitial.

-"How are you feeling this morning?"

-"Rubbish." I repilied.

-"You had an episode again last night."

-"Yeah I figured I freaked out or something."

-"Well I figured I would just check on you. It's lunch time."

I'm not really hungry but I could use a drink. There aren't a whole lot of patients here. Only a few of us have been here for a long time. Most patients are here for only a few months and then get sent home. They are the ones that get better. There are only a few of us that have been here for longer than four months. There is Max who has been here for about ten months, Clinton who has been here for about five or six years. (He is probably going to be here all of his life) then there is me, Simon. It's a hebrew name that means he who hears. Suiting isn't it? I've been here about a year and a half.

The food here is rubbish but I guess it's not too bad, either way I'm not really hungry anyway. So I just get a RC Colaand sit at an empty table. I normally sit with Max and Clinton but I'm not in the mood to talk to people today. Across the room I see Coralee sitting alone as well. She has food but she isn't eating. She is here for an eating disorder, at least that's what I'm guessing. I never see her eating. At lunch she just stares at her tray and sometimes a doctor is sitting with her trying to get her to eat. She has been here for about two weeks or so. I think she is very beautiful. She has short black hair, an adorable face and an amazing body. I wonder what colour her eyes are. I've only seen her from far away because I'm to afraid to talk to her. Along with schizophrenia I also have social anxiety. If I tried to talk to her and started freaking out, she would probably never want to speak to me again. If her eating disorder is the only reason she is here than she might think I'm a psychopathic basket case. I think I'm going to try it. I mean the worst that could happen is she ends up hating me, I end up hating myself even more, I spiral into an even deeper depression , and I get better drugs.

I gather my nerves, get up and start walking towards her. When I'm almost halfway to her, Max spots me and calls me over to his table. I stop to think. Should I keep walking and act like I didn't hear him?

-"You should just forget it. Even if you did manage to get through a conversation, She would never see anything in you. You're an ugly, neurotic, psycho."

I realise that they are right so I sit down at Max and Clinton's table.

-"You okay, Si?" Max ask me.

-"Yeah the voices are just acting up again."

-"Why were you sitting alone?"

Before I could answer Clinton steps in.

-"What do you think? After being here for almost a year you should know this!"

-"Sorry, I was just trying to start conversation."

-"Conversate is the last thing he wants to do! What do you not understand about Social Anxiety!?"

-"It's fine. I'm okay now" I say.

-"I couldn't help but notice that you were looking at that girl over there" Clinton says.

-"Yeah, I was going to go talk to her when you called me over here."

-"Max, you're always getting in the way of things, kin?" Clinton looks angrly at Max.

-"It's fine. I probably would've freaked anyway."

Clinton is always picking on Max so I didn't want to make a big deal about it. I look over at Coralee's table and see that she is gone.

-"I'll just take some Alprzolam half an hour before lunch and talk to her tomorrow. It's better that way so I'm more comfortable with talking to someone new."

-"You looking to shag her?" Max ask.

-"You know, there are more to relationships than sex." I say in an offended tone.

"Like What?"

-"I don't know. Love I suppose."

-"Over the years there is one thing I learned, no one loves a psycho." Clint says.

I would like to think that Clinton is just being synical but I know he is right. I've thought the same thing many times myself.

-"I suppose you may be right," I say, "well I'm going back to my room to read a bit or write some music or something."

-"You call that sketchy shit music?" Clint starts laughing. I just smile and get up and head to my room.

-"See you later, Si." Max yells out as I walk away.

When I get back to my room I decide to read George Orwell's Nineteen Eighy-Four rather than play my guitar. The guitar has nylon strings so I can't hurt myself with them. I haven't read it nearly as much as A Clockwork Orange but I've read it a few times. It's pretty good. I like how it states that reality is only what is in ones mind. I find that comforting considering that I have schizophrenia. I think if George was still alive, he would treat me more like a normal person rather than a psycho.


Chapter three



I'm starting to feel sick. I need to go see Legs as soon as possible. I'm starting to sweat and Faye seems to notice. We're going for a short walk. Catching up, talking about petty bullshit that neither one of us are really interested in.

-"Is everything allright?" Faye ask, "You dont look like you feel to good."

-"I need to go see Legs, now."

-"I see. Well how far is it to his gat?"

-"About ten blocks or so. I'm not exactly sure."

-"We should probably get a cab then?"

-"I don't have any money."

-"That's allright, I'll cover it."

-"Cheers, that would be great if there was a cab near by. They very rarely come through this part of town. To many junkies. They are afraid of getting robbed."

-"How about the subway then?"

-"It's just down the street. I guess that would be the best option."

The walk isn't very far but it seems like miles. My whole body feels weak. With each step I take I feel like the bones in my legs are shattering. I'm sweating very heavily even though It is freezing outside. I breath deaply through my mouth to avoid vomitting. We finally get to the station. The walk down the stairs isn't that bad but once we are getting off the walk up will be hell. The subway is pretty much empty other than some fancy suited buisness man and a greasy haired homeless man talking to himself. At least I think he is homeless. He look as if he hasn't showered in ages. Which reminds me, It has been quite awhile sense I washed myself.

-"Is it worth it? Faye ask."


-"Is the high worth the sickness?"

-"Definitely. Why do you ask?"

-"Just curious."

I wish she would shut up. Talking is the last thing I want to do right now.

After awhile, the subway finally stops. I suddenly get a burst of energy. I've never been this weak but I'd climb Mt. Everest for heroin.

Suddenly my energy is gone as I stand at the bottom of the stairs. So much for Everest. Moving up the steps, it feels like each step is two feet high. I have to lean against the stair rail just to keep from colapsing.

After walking a few more blockes we finally reach Legs' flat house. Climbing up the stairs to his flat is even harder than the subway stairs. We finally reach his door. I knock weak but loudly. After a few seconds Legs answers

-"Well hello there, Liz, nice to see you again, and who is this beautiful young lady you've brought with you?"

She seems partially flatterd and partially creeped out.

-"My name is Faye, nice to meet you, you must be Legs."

-"It is I, at the moment at least."

Faye looks confused but I completely understand what he meant. You see, when an addict is on smack, they are a different person than when they are having withdraw.

-"You got any gear? I need a fucking hit."

-"Yes, I can tell. Come on in."

We walk in and Faye shuts the door behind us. Legs' gat is messy as usual. He walks over to the little safe where he keeps his gear. He keeps it locked on account of all the junkies he lets stay here from time to time.

-"How much are you wanting to get?"

-"A lot more than I can actually afford."

I reach in my pocket and pull out a few wadded bills and hand them to Legs. He puts the bills in the safe and hands me a small bag filled with poppy. Just seeing it and holding it in my hand is starting to make me feel a little better. But only a little. I walk over to the little area of the room where I useually shoot up. Everything is there, spoons, water, cotton balls, matches and a candle. I pull my syringe out of my sock, where I had it hidden. I always have my own syringe cause I'm to afraid to share needles. I draw water from the carton into the syringe and pour it in the spoon. I use the tip of the needle to stir it a little. Then I hold it over the candel and wait. It quickly starts coagulate, but it's never quick enough. Then the cotton is used as a filter as I draw the smack into the syringe. It takes me a few minutes to find a vein. The sting from the needle fells great. Then I register the vein, I love to watch the blood draw back into it. Then finally I shoot it home. The warmth gos through my vein and within a matter of seconds all my pain goes away. It's the best feelling in the world.



Chapter four





When I first got here, I hated it. They said it would help but it made me feel worse than I did before. I missed being able to go to sleep when I wanted to. I miss the freedom I had before I came here. But now it doesn't bother me so much. I don't feel depressed anymore. I don't feel happy either. I don't feel anything. Maybe I'm just medicated.

I decide that now would be the the time to talk to Coralee since I'm not feeling anything therefore, anxiety is not an issue at the moment.

She is sitting alone in a chair at the far end of the room. I walk over and sit in a chair next to her.

-"Hi" I say to her.


I hadn't thought of what to say at this point.

-"Um...What are you here for?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

-"I have um, an eating disorder."

-"You making any progress?"

-"Not really. Even when I try to eat more, it just ends up making me sick."

-"I see, your stomach isn't used to having that much food."

She brushes her hair back with her hand and glances at me for a split second before returning her eyes to the table.

-"What are you here for?" she ask me.

-"Severe Social Anxiety, Manic Depression, OCD, and Schizophrenia."

-"Wow, that must be hard to deal with."

-"Yeah, I suppose it is."

-"Well as far as the social anxiety goes, you seem to be doing better."

-"I'm just medicated."

Suddenly she begins to look uncomfortable, like I grossed her out or something.

It seems that the emotional numbness has gone away cause I feel tears coming but I fight them back.

I tend to cry alot, over stupid things. Like now, I'm having to fight tears just because I said something wrong.

There is a long akward silence before one of us speaks. Finally I spoke.

-"I noticed you had visitors earlier today."

-"Yes. My parents came."

-"How did that go?"

-"It went well, I suppose. I noticed you dont have many visitors."

-"Yeah. I haven't spoken to my parents in years and I don't really have any friends."

-"I'm sorry."

-"For what?"

-"The fact that you don't have any friends."

-"But that's not your fault. It's mine."

-"How is it your fault?"

-"I don't know, I'm just not a likeable person I guess."

-"Hm. Well I'm still sorry."

-"Oh, well...um...apology accepted?"

After that there is another awkward silence and I feel a little anxiety start to creep in. Even when medicated, I still feel mild anxiety when things like this happen. But it's a hell of a lot better than the anxiety I feel when I'm not medicated.


It's late. I cant tell what time because there is no clock in here. My heart is racing. I cant sleep. Everytime I lay down I feel the urge to get up. Everytime I get up I feel the urge to lay down. I decide to get up and go out into the hall.

When I exit my room I see one of the orderlys across the hall. She walks up to me.

-"What's wrong? Your supposed to be sleeping."

-"I can't. My heart is beating really fast."

She checks my pulse and looks at her watch.

-"Your fine. Your heart isn't beating fast."

-"Are you sure? It really feels like it is."

-"Are you sure?"

About then Franco walks over to us.

-"What's going on?"

I try to answer but the female orderly speaks over me.

-"He says his heart is beating fast. I checked it, it's fine."

Then Franco grabs my hand and checks my pulse just like the female orderly did.

-"It actually is going a little fast. Come with me I'll give you something to slow it down.

We walk over to the counter and he gets out a pill.

-"Here take this"

I fill up the little cup with water from the water dispenser take the pill and head back to my room.

After about thirty minutes I feel it starting to kick in. It makes my whole body hot. But not like the hot you normally feel. It feels like my body is a stove top or something. Like if you cracked an egg on my arm you could fry it. I lay there trying to ignore it. A few moments later I drift off to sleep.


I should be getting released soon. When we first get here they ask us a series of questions and when they are seeing if we are ready to be released they ask the same questions to see if the answers vary.

-"Why are you seeking treatment?"

-"I had a manic anxiety attack and lost sanity."

-"Who are you are you closest to and why?"

-"No one."

He pauses for a moment.

-"Okay then."

-"What activities do you and your friends do together?"

-"I dont have any friends."

He gives me a weird look of disapointment then writes something down.

-"Okay then."

One question that strikes me as odd is the one that asks, "What do you think about sex and daiting?" I wonder what the hell this has to do with anything but I just answer truthfully.

-"I don't understand the obsession people seem to have with it."

-"Are you in a relationship? If so, describe that relationship."

-"I'm not."

-"Have you ever used alcohol or drugs? If yes, how often and what kind of alcohol or drugs."

"Yes. Usually straight vodka and pain pills."

-"Do you spend money on alcohol or drugs."


-"Have you ever had blackouts when using drugs or alcohol."

-"I can't say I have."

-"How do drugs or alcohol affect you?"

-"They self-medicate my social anxiety, schitzophrinia, and depression."

-"What problems have you had with the police or law enforcement?"

-"I was arrested for assault with a bodily fluid when I spit blood in peoples faces but my lawyer got the charges droped. That was during the anxiety attack that got me sent here."

-"What spirtitual beliefs are important to you?"

-"I was raised Jewish."

-"List five strengths about you."

-"I can't."

-"List five weaknesses about you."

-"I can only name two. I'm neurotic and annoying."

-"Do you like yourself? If so, why? If not, why?"

-"Not really. I just don't find myself to be a likeable person."

-"Do you expect the same of others as you do yourself?"

-"No. I'm more critical of myself than I am of others."

-"Have you ever thought about suicide? If yes, what was the reason."

-"Yes and honestly I don't know why."

-"Did you have a plan for suicide if so what was that plan."

-"I was going to inject air into my veins."

I answered most of them honestly except for the one that ask, "Have you ever thought of hurting anyone else?" I lie and say "No." The truth is I often fantasize about becoming the world greatest serial killer. I imagine step by step how I would kill each victim. If I told them this I would probably never get out of her.

-"Have you ever hurt yourself?"


-"You've never cut yourself or pulled your hair out?"

-"Well come to think of it, I actually beat myself up once. I punched myself in the face several times and cause my nose and the inside of my mouth to bleed. Just like this."

I punched myself really hard in the cheek. The doctor just gave me a weird look so I just smiled at him. It seemed to throw him off a bit.

-"Where would you like to live after treatment?"

-"I'd go back to my apartment to live with my roomate."

-"Okay well that's it. From what I can tell you are ready for release."

Finally! I'm dying to get out of here!


© Copyright 2018 Jaramya Rattle. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:






More Great Reading

Popular Tags