8
Jared
I open my mouth to argue but she lifts her chin at that stubborn angle I find so adorable.
Fuck.
My fingers curl up with frustration, but punching a wall isn’t going to help. Angelina’s pulled back, cutting me off. As she should.
I’m not part of her future. It’s wrong of me to try to insinuate myself into it. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her give up on her dream. To wither away and die under the expectations of prescribed perfection.
She kicks off her flip flops and heads into the kitchen.
I follow, unable to stay out of her business. She takes out lettuce and tomatoes, puts them in a bowl.
It may be exactly what she wants to eat right now, but the sight of it makes my wolf growl. She thinks she weighs too much to be a ballerina. She’s been starving herself to fit
