Violeta Noir

The burger place never happened. By the time I left the salon, my nails were fresh and my toes were perfect. His favorite color. Of course. Wounded Boy has always had a particular weakness for my feet, and I knew exactly where his mind would go when he saw them. I didn’t need to tell…

The morning I stopped asking questions, the Wounded Boy started answering ones I hadn’t asked. This was particularly funny because the day before, he’d apparently fed some of my text messages into ChatGPT for analysis. The machine diagnosed me as fearful avoidant and highly sexual. I shrugged. Maybe. I don’t talk to virtually anyone in…

Monday morning, at 6:05, my lover broke up with me. By Tuesday evening he was standing at my door with flowers. So that went well. In fairness, it was a very mature breakup. Thoughtful. Self aware. He had decided that he caused me stress. That he’d affected my family. That things had been said that…