@1am-8am cont. from here
“Thought it was your job, pretty boy,” 18 said, some wild edge to his normally calm voice as he pushed the woman away. He had no idea what her name was, or how he’d even got there; all he did know was the regret that always came immediately with smoking crack. She had lovely blonde curls. He was shaking. Never again.
She’d had one hand under his shirt, the other draped around his neck, but suddenly she sickened him. “Don’t you get fuckin’… Squeamish on me.”
“Pretty bo--... I’ll forgive you this time for that. And you got the other thing wrong too. Watching isn’t my job.” he replied and then rubbed the palm of his hand hard against his forehead. That wasn’t what he wanted to say.
“You didn t... don’t really seem like you enjoyed it so... I felt like saying something.”
His eyes move to the woman. “Princess.. it might maybe be a good idea if you leave...”