XENIA
I did something horrible. I hate myself for it.
I rummaged through my bag to ensure I’d gathered all my essentials for school, but those words kept ringing in my head and I kept losing track of what I was doing. I couldn’t figure out what those words implied, at least not directly, and I’d gone an entire weekend without being able to get answers so I was slowly tipping towards the brink of obsessive fixation.
You’ve crossed it. Exactly twelve hours ago, my subconscious mocked and earned a hiss from me.
“Boy trouble?” my mom’s voice made me jerk backwards and nearly tumble over the couch.
Luckily, she didn’t see that because she was too busy applying lipstick with her eyeshadow palette mirror.
“N—no, why would you even think that?” I asked in a nervous tone that made her turn to
