The apartment smells like sweat and cum again. I left the windows open this time, but it doesn’t help. My thighs are still sticky. I don’t remember when I last showered. Maybe after they left. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that does is the way their hands felt when they finally touched me—like I was worth breaking. I’d let them ruin me completely if it made them happy. I’d choke on their cock until I passed out if they asked. Nothing else in this world makes me feel anything anymore. Not the cuts on my thighs, not the pills, not the strangers who fuck me just to see if I’ll react. Only them. I’d be good. I’d be so good.