Amara did not know how long she stared at the ceiling last night. The clock kept ticking but she refused to close her eyes. Her chest burned like she had swallowed fire and it would not go away. The way Leo kissed her. No. The way he had taken her mouth like she was something he could crush. It was wrong. It was rough. It was everything she should hate. But the shameful part was that she kept remembering it and wishing it had never ended.
She hated herself for it.
When she dragged herself to school the next morning Becky was already waiting by the gate. Becky took one look at her and her brows shot up.
“What’s with your face? Did you cry all night?” Becky asked.
“No,” Amara muttered.
“You did. Your eyes are swollen.”
“I didn’t.”
“Amara.” Becky pressed her lips together, studying her
