The question kept roaming around my melancholic and hysterical head. It made no sense to me, and the fact it came out from her lips made it so absurd that I started to engage myself like Anita, deep inside Conan Doyle's masterminds trying to figure out why she would say so. It was a typical weird question because she should have known about how much I had faced.
How much I had felt when she would slip her long nails over my breasts, my pubic hair, and my small tummy. She should have known about Inas's fake intimacy and how he had put me in a trap of these seduction techniques he had learned. She should have known about Kale flexing his hip muscles harder, while I lay on a laboratory table with needles and test tubes, absolutely tired and hopeless by the affairs.
Then why would she mark
