Meghan
I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, my heart thumping against my chest. The silence is deafening as Chloe’s request hangs in the air. She wants me to talk about Aaron Wilburn. What was I going to say? I only met him the night we shared his bed. But in the living room earlier today, we had talked like we knew each other for years. That is what I get for all these.
Chloe is perched on the edge of my bed, her shoulders stiff, her face tight with worry. The tension between us feels like a taut rubber band, stretched to the point of snapping. I try to focus on her words, but my stomach churns, and the acidic taste of guilt lingers in my throat.
Aaron Wilburn. His name alone sends a ripple of anxiety through me. Two nights ago, he was nothing but a stranger in a dimly lit Tokyo party.
