forget.

“So, every year on my parents wedding anniversary, my dad buys my mom a charm for her charm bracelet, right? But not only that, he proposes to her… Every year… He gets roses and lights candles… Way to one up anything I could ever do for a girl, dad. Thanks.”

What the hell? Relationship goals, oh my god.

I don’t! They’re my brother’s friends, I promise. I swear I’m not some freak that befriends kids for their junk.

Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

It’s insane at the amount of twelve year olds trusted with a phone these days, let alone a snapchat account that allows them to post their junk on their story. I swear, if I get one more random dick pic from some middle schooler, I’m going throw my phone against the wall.

Well, I didn’t know you knew so many middle schoolers, V.

She didn’t sob or wail. Her grief was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.