"Don't call me that," I said sharply. "I'm Faith Smith. The girl you're calling died a long ago," I added, keeping my expression free of emotion.
He half-heartedly smiled. "You'll always be my Ebony." Even the stridence in his voice had subdued.
I gripped the telephone tightly. No, I shouldn't let his words nor his voice affect me. "Jail suits you better," I sarcastically said.
His eyes went down, taking a quick glance at his frail body. "I have cancer, Ebony," he openly confessed, his black eyes that were usually bloodshot and wild before were now glassy and empty.
Was it strange I was supposed to be trying not to break down with those horrible memories coming into life, yet here I was, stopping myself to feel any trace of pity or even a hint of compassion? He didn't deserve any o
