Page 18 of Pretty Little Thing

I chuckle. “Hey, Mel.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about Robbie when you masturbate?”

“Oh, all the time,” she says, giving a passive shrug.

My eyes roll back. “I do not understand you two.”

“Yeah. Me, neither.”

I pull my hand from my pocket and turn it up to check my stamp. It’s a little faded from before but I can still easily make out the feminine hourglass shape still imprinted on my skin.

Do I really look different? I don’t feel any different, unless you count the sharp stab of curiosity tingling my gut since the moment we left. That place seemed harmless enough in the daytime with lights shining overhead and empty couches but what happens after dark?

More importantly, what happens to me?

Only one way to find out.

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