fam fiction
Angst
By Nicole Hefner
image uploaded by Rebecca Smeyne
Back then if a boy didn’t carve your initials into his knuckles with a Swiss Army knife, you were sure he didn’t love you, and if later, in his room—his parents on the other side of the yellow wall watching Wheel of Fortune and eating salt and vinegar chips—he asked you to put a pillow (blue) over his head and kill him, and you just cried and wiped your snot with the back of your hand and said no over and over again, he was sure you didn’t love him either.