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Who is this sassy lost child
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Those words shouldn't have hit her so hard. They shouldn't have felt like a ton of bricks in her chest. Georgia Lee didn't like Fiyori. She had thought often that a life like hers, a life full of boys and drugs and hedonism and tormenting others, wasn't really worth living. But she hadn't thought that Fiyori agreed, and she had certainly never been petty or bitter enough to wish Fiyori dead.

(If she were to be really, brutally honest with herself, Georgia Lee desperately wanted everyone who had ever wronged her alive well into the future, long enough to see her succeeding where they had all failed.)

"Wh-why?" Why did Fiyori want to kill herself? And why was it Georgia Lee's fault she was still around? Because she had awoken Fiyori that first morning, dragged her to safety, talked with her about the future?

The sound of Fiyori's knuckles popping reminded Georgia Lee suddenly that she had left her supplies and all the weapons back in the lounge. Her first instinct was the shrink further back against the wall, but that would do her no good. It never had, where Fiyori was concerned.

Instead, she lifted her chin as steadily as she could and stared at the shape of Fiyori's face in the darkness. Are you real? she wanted to ask, but she kept quiet and waited for Fiyori's next words.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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I know exactly what I want and who I want to be. · Doctors’ Offices