he wonders how many girls he's left, curled up in balls in the corner of their bathrooms. how many girls he's left completely wrecked and sobbing as they try to steady themselves against their sink. feet freezing as their toes press into the bathroom floor and their eyes settle against the test.
he knows he's careful. he's not an idiot. he's got more condoms stocked piled in the trunk of his car, next to his seemingly lifetime supply of rock salt, than any man'll ever need. ever. but condoms and drunken promises of, "i'm on the pill" or "i've got it all under control," only go so far.
and he's got that kind of rap sheet that 99% doesn't mean shit.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
angelaizapunx) wrote,
