” She pulled away and slapped me in the face. “No!” she shouted at me. “Don’t touch me..” She was scaring me. Had I invented her looks of ...assion, the delicate touch of her hand against my penis, her smiles and innuendo from nothing? Was I losing it? Why was she lying like this? Was I going crazy? She started stalking back and forth and waving her arms as she yelled. “And this mystical stuff. You’re talking about doom, fate. Perfect love. Ideal love. What you’re talking about doesn’t exist! I. She had fought, shot and killed people, stolen food and supplies and now she was sitting in the back of an almost empty supermarket and masturbated because she damn well could, and frankly Jenny wasn’t sure which of those felt best.The survivor’s guilt she had read so much about was more of a survivor’s pleasure, the pain and grieve where there, but felt more like challenge and motivation to keep going.And that was what she did, day after day and sometimes even night, the urge to stay up to. More

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