Nietzsche on his Balcony

They let her go. To the street. Back to the street. Without the cruel protection of her mother and her mother's lover, under which she grew up eating soap and having her anus penetrated. Without the loving protection of her foster parents, the Bormans, whom she killed because she didn't have the time, the opportunity, or the desire to kill her mother and her mother's lover. Without the protection of the juvenile detention facility where she ended up when she was eight years old and from which she got released by the lawyer Aaron Azar, with whom she lived so happily, without violence, without fear for the first time, hidden the way she liked to be, without anyone seeing her, touching her, just watching Westerns and munching popcorn all day without anyone knowing she was always there, in the bedroom next to Aaron Azar's living room, waiting for the return of her liberator each night so they could eat dinner together and go to bed together.

He didn't touch her.