Nineteen
This girl. The moment I looked at her, I saw a vision of us kissing. Her pulling my body closer while thick raindrops poured upon our skin. The sensation evoked pain. Not because of her, but because of somebody she reminded me of. She was only a ghost. An image of a yearning. Because when, in those visions, I let go of her lips, I saw another woman. The woman I had seen in the city.
Stop this. Concentrate.
The wound on my neck burned badly. All of my body told me to attack. To survive. To end this mess those strangers put me through. Except that they were not strangers, were they? Had Manasseh lied to me?
I desperately tried to hold on to control. But the anger got the better of me. The anger of trying to protect someone and not being able to. Where did it come from? The anger
