Faye
The dorm room is a shadowed sanctuary, the single candle on my desk casting a trembling glow, its flame dancing across my laptop screen as I curl on my bed, knees pressed tight to my chest. The air hums with Sam’s lavender diffuser, mingling with the humid breeze slipping through the cracked window.
My afro curls, freed from last night’s updo, spill around my face, tendrils brushing my temples, tickling my skin, my lips bare but still tingling with the ghost of Ezra’s kiss behind the dunes—his hands gripping my hips, the steamy clash of tongues that set my blood ablaze.
Ellie’s soft revelation at the beach, her words painting Ezra as a boy burdened by high school guilt, not the villain I’d etched in my heart, churn in my mind, clashing with the distrust fueled by Marcus Locke’s sec
