It was the perfect metaphor, order really. His hair plugs, his teeth caps, his botox, his Bavarian penile-compensation vehicle.
And now, she sighed, biting her lip, this.
She sniffled a bit more and peeled back the red foil. The “blossom” popped out of its green-plastic receptacle and tumbled under the futon.
I will not lose it. I will not.
On her knees, she reached under, crushing it slightly in her fist and fished it out. It wore a fuzz of dust bunnies. Brushing them off, she sagged to the floor. Cheap, waxy chocolate melted across her teeth as she teetered over whether to bite into it.
She caved.
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