Sheila’s POV
The bus moves slowly, every bump shaking me like it’s trying to knock the memory of him out of me. My bag digs into my stomach, my fingers clutching the strap like it’s the only thing keeping me from collapsing right here.
I stare out the window, watching the streetlights smear into streaks of yellow and white. The dark streets pass by, empty and quiet, but inside me, everything is loud.
My thighs are still buzzing. My skin feels alive, too sensitive, like every nerve is awake and he’s the only one who can touch it.
I hate that I can still feel the brush of his fingers, the heat of his breath, the way he made me want to melt even when I tried to fight it. I can’t stop remembering, and it’s making it impossible to focus on anything else.
I try. I stare at the dark street
