She couldn’t tell if it was a desire or a need. She didn’t know if she needed to celebrate this side of her or blame her parents. Who was she to blame and whom would she blame, the one that incestually took away her dandelion innocence or the one who taught her to use lust as a tool, as a beacon of power?
She had dinner alone every night at the Le Tire Bouchon. She was alone in her mind, but never at her table. She would be coy and avoid eye contact because she knew that that’s what they wanted, to let them believe they were the predator and not the prey.