kaira maliah astor
I heave in a gulp of oxygen, my chest burning. I rest my palm against my chest, pressing down. I know who I am. My mind is a wobbled mess, racing from one thought to the other. From Peter Smith and Helena straight to Amara. All the way back to how I was feeling and what I was thinking. To my father and his disappointed expression when I left the basement. It all floods back and revolves around Zyran and the way he gazed down at me, the way he observed me and watched me and the things he said to me.
The way his scent still wafts around in the air and the way the feel of his lips still tingles over my shoulder, neck and ear. The way despite the hate I feel for him, the feel of him still wraps around my heart like vines. I lift my arm, throwing it over my eyes as I inhal
