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Like It Was The Last Fuck of Our Lives (page 5)

“I want,” she stopped. Part of her didn’t want to say it, or admit it. Part of her was afraid. What are you doing? Don’t ruin this. This means too much to you.

“What do you want?” He was standing there, confusion painting his face. That made him seem even more vulnerable to her, even more than his being naked. His body so perfect but so fragile. She corrected herself.

“No,” she said soberly. “I…need.”

How many people have died?

“What do you need, Pria?”

 How many more since I walked into his house?

“I need this,” she said plainly. “To be more.”

We both can’t stay alone forever.