our inner voice, but sometimes guilt or habit makes you listen to those other voices-the ones that beat you down. I spent most of my life going, rules, what rules? I stood there and looked at Hudson, held his gaze, his anger, and I just wasn't angry. The straps just peeled down, and suddenly he was nude from the waist up, with the straps hanging around him like the petals of a black leather flower. Feel it, not like it was my own, but like it was a coat that clung to my skin.
The problem with dressing more like a girl was that it forced you to have to care. I had enough problems without self-doubt creeping in. It was a sign of control and damn near displeasure. Felt that spark flickering like a match in the wind.
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