If you’d asked me to describe myself a couple weeks ago, I’d have told you I’m Letty Fucking Dillinger—The Rock in your cock, the cream in your wet dream, the spunk in your junk.
I had everything a girl could want: A hot rocker boyfriend, fame, a nuclear cooter, a smart phone … The whole damn world at my feet. I worked my ass off to get where I am, and I have no regrets.
But everything changed when she exploded on the scene with the mother of atomic bombs strapped across her chest. She’s beautiful, talented, and holds the key to my future—my life as I know it—in her hands.
I hate her. I fucking hate her. Because she and her merry band of bitches made me do something I’ve never done before. They made me doubt myself.
Who am I?
I’m not sure anymore.