Fuck. Cars. And fuck more. It was supposed to be the motto of my life. A cheesy slogan people go by nowadays. What do they call it? Yes. Aesthetic. My aesthetic was supposed to be a carefree playboy—fucking everything walking.

Fuck. I was well aware and needlessly proud of my looks. I’d fuck myself too if I could.

However, as I looked into Rara's dark eyes, I realized that I didn't know who I was anymore. Amidst the confusing mix of emotions, I saw the diminishing hatred and felt my fantasies fading away. The lies I had told myself were dispelled as the truth became clear in the harsh light....