Dante
Sleep didn’t come easy these days. Even when my body begged for it, even when I forced myself into bed after a night run, I’d just lay there, staring at the ceiling until dawn bled pale against the blinds.
Shirley’s face kept haunting me. Her voice. The way she’d said I’ll try like trust was some foreign language she wasn’t fluent in. And hell, maybe it was. She’d been burned before, I knew that. I wasn’t blind to the scars she carried, the ones she never let anyone see.
But what burned me was the fact she still didn’t tell me everything. I could feel it, deep down in my bones. There was something she was hiding, something festering in the shadows between us. Every time I looked at her, I felt it humming like static under her skin.
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to growl.
