Shit.

Lack of independence.

Not that I would be able to handle that anyway. Hello, I have spent nineteen complete years alive and I still do not know how to take care of myself, even on the most basic levels.

A sharp yank jerks me backwards and I remember that there is still a collar around my neck, hooked to a leash leading back to hands I'd rather forget.

I'm not going back to San Francisco.

Cue tears, pacing, swearing, outright sobbing, shouting, and plunging into a deeper state of depression.

I'm wrapped in a sheer gauze of misery and I've never missed bum cum and sirens so much.



Oh, and my birthday's in two weeks.

I may as well just die and get it over with.