Wait, so you buy me some fucking hideous dress with ruffles -- it wasn't even Betsey Johnson, I might add, so don't fucking pretend it was! -- and then you get me fucked up on something. Then you maul my neck until it's clear I'm not conscious enough to fucking put out and so you fucking abandon me to Lena and Peter?! Like that fucking makes it okay?!
I might be placated if you let me crash with you for a little bit.