I briefly consider hitting you but I would only hurt myself more than you—both my knuckles and my heart.I force a smile as I gulp a renewed surge of...tears down. I actually feel the lump slowly descending to my stomach like a too large, too hot sip of too thick dark chocolate: bittersweet and painful, leaving a trail of seared tissue.As the word 'burn' remains in my thoughts, I lightly chuckle through the corset my longing for your closeness keeps wrapping more tightly around my chest. It comes. So, yes, I tortured those pricks. Those women were not actresses, and they had far more than what I gave them coming.”She produced a balisong knife from a compartment in one of the armrests that looked to serve as Helen’s junk drawer and idly flicked it open and closed before returning it. (The armrest that pulls down on the other side of her usual seat is a bit of a “Lost & Found of the Rich & Famous.” It’s how I ended up with Vicente Fox’s silver monogrammed mustache comb. Helen gave it to. More

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