“I’m tired of talking. I want you to extract my thoughts through my nostrils.”

“My favorite flower lost its voice, and through aroma therapy and the assistance of both my nostrils, I’m trying to help it get it back.”

“And I withdrew into myself when I understood that they wanted to extract every thought in my head, one by one, like decayed teeth.”

“I like using scented markers. Especially when I’m trying to color the inside of my nostrils.”

“I’m talking to you more than I speak with my mahmen.” “I thought your mother was dead.” “She is.” “You have a very low standard for communication.”

“Let’s get drunk,” I state, clinking my glass with his.“Sure you want to do that?” Dorian says with a raised eyebrow. He gives me that look a lot, probably because of all my questionable behavior. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” I say with a cynical chuckle. “But I know I’m tired of disappointment. And I’m tired of keeping secrets. And I’m tired of fucking things up!”Dorian nods, understanding my frustration. “Do you want me to help you?” he asks quietly. I know what he means. Dorian is offering to fix me like he did the day before.“No,” I shake my head. “I want you to drink with me. Then I want you to do things to me that are as dirty and immoral as I already feel.” I take another hefty gulp and let the searing burn strip away the guilt and shame in my chest. “Ok, let’s get drunk.” And with that Dorian downs the entire contents of his glass and turns on the music.”