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La Timide.

I should have done things differently. I should have imposed myself as a tyranny of femininity; instead I let you be free. Perhaps what you have mistaken my distance as indifference. But I did not want to bother you. I am so fond of you; I thought silence would do you a welcome service from all the pretty little birds that squawk your name without meaning it.

I should have been a cunt. I should have screamed and nagged and told you this wouldn't do.

But I was considerate. I was good; I kept quiet and I waited.

Just another notch in your belt I watched you take off.

I wanted you to understand what I hide with my smile.

But you don't. You won't and you never gave a fuck, so long as I was there when you called.


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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…