“So, like I asked, what’s with the nightie?”“It smells like what I always think mothers smell like,” I tell him honestly, knowing I don’t have to explain. He nods. “My mum has one just the same and you have no idea how disturbing it is that it’s turning me on.”

“He nods. "My mum has one just the same and you have no idea how disturbing it is that it's turning me on.”

“What does he smell like?” “Smell like?” I scrunched up my face. “You know, he looks like he’d smell good.”

“You smell like a bar," he said.I thought, You smell like a library. But I wanted to have sex right then, so I said, "You smell like a poem.”

“Do you like me? You know, like me like me?"I cringe the moment I ask and cover my face with my hands. The smell of blood and trail dirt wafts into my nose. Something sinks inside me. What is it? Oh, I know, any dignity I could possibly have left.”

“You know what, you need to stay out of my bedroom. You have your own.” He smiled. “I know I do. I see it quite often. I just prefer your bed. It smells better.” I made a face. “It smells better? What does your bed smell like? Regret and bad taste?”