MICHELA;
He scoffed. The sound was sharp and ugly, cutting through the gentle hum of the café and coffee-grinding machine. Nathan stood before my table, arms crossed, that familiar mocking smirk on his face.
“Come on, Fat-suh,” he said, dropping into the seat across from me without asking. The wooden chair scraped loudly against the floor. “You don’t have to be that way when told the truth.”
I paused, my fingers freezing over the keyboard. I glanced at his face… the same face I used to find charming.
My hand curled into a fist on the table, nails digging into my palm. But I refused to let him break me. Not today, Satan. I wiped my tongue across my front teeth, holding it there for a second, then exhaled slowly. I resumed typing, the soft clicks of the keys the only sound I wanted to f
