DANIEL
My attention shifts back to the woman nestled beside me, looking at me in that way that f***s and twists my damn guts. Her eyes glow a myriad of blues, grays, and greens. A bright green I thought wouldn't reappear after King's accident. I hate the way she looks at me. I hate it.
Because it's not just a look, it's not mere eye contact. It's words and phrases I don't want to decipher.
I let go of her, and she staggered a little, as if she were floating in midair and her feet were finally touching the ground. That's where she should always be, on the ground, not in the clouds she sometimes soars to. But even though she's no longer touching her, she's still touching a part of me. My jacket is held snugly against her chest like some kind of armor, one she won't let go of. And
