A sticky, greasy sensation lingered on the back of my hand. Regarding Christopher's touch, I had never truly, from the bottom of my heart, felt the way I did today. It was an absolutely repulsive thing.
Expressionless, I pulled my hand back. I grabbed a napkin and wiped the back of my hand with slow, deliberate precision.
Looking at him, I replied, syllable by syllable, "Christopher, I gave you your chance. Stop pestering me. Otherwise, I'm afraid that whenever I think of you in the future, it will just make me sick to my stomach."
His face drained of color, turning deathly pale in an instant. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something else out of sheer desperation.
Right at that moment, however, a familiar figure rushed inside.
"Christopher, I knew you would come looking for
