******* isn’t a very pretty word, so let’s pretend it wasn’t. We’ll say it was... love.
Or do they call it making love? Does it matter if that wasn’t what it was?
Recall I don’t love you and neither you me. It doesn’t really matter because what will we ever be?
Curled up next to you almost made me think I was happy. I’ll say it was... infatuation.
Enamored, maybe, I was. But then again you were only using me, weren’t you darling?
Don’t pretend you don’t remember those three nights. I can help you out if you’d like.

Teasing was all it was supposed to be. Do you remember the taste of my lips? I remember yours.
Re: not the ones on your face. But from a legal standpoint, do you know what you did?
All that fun we had? You drugged me, used me, and took advantage of me. I swear you did.
Unless I was high the whole time, I’m fairly certain your boyfriend was filming us.
Might I add that he could be arrested for exploiting a minor?
And you, too, for ****. But don’t worry, we were just *******. Right?

But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that. What we made was love, remember?
Love, like when you spiked my coffee. Love, when you watched me strip. Love...
Uncouth is how I would describe the things we said to each other. Bad words, bad words.
Now I just want to tell you one thing, and don’t take it the wrong way.
Te amo, mi amor. I hope you burn in hell but only when you treat me well.