JESSICA BERKELEY.
I shouldn’t have asked that question.
The moment I shut the door behind me, the silence presses in—too quiet, too aware.
I feel slightly embarrassed to go out.. Why shouldn't I? When I asked a wrong question in the first place.
Why should it bother me if he cared? It's not like it's a big deal? Anyone would feel that way towards someone who just got hurt, right?
My problem?.. I assume things too quickly.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.
His voice lingers.. not loud, not sharp. Just… there.
“Don’t ask questions you’re not ready for.”
I exhale, rubbing my temple.
“Then why didn’t you just answer?” I mutter.
Because he could have and that’s the problem.
I fall back on the bed, stare up at the ceiling, trying to push it away.. his face, his voice,
