LEILA
.
.
Gerald shifted his weight while the movement felt so deliberate and in a more menacing way, stepping slightly away from Misa, his gaze fixed on me.
The brief moment of sickening intimacy between them was over, replaced by a predatory focus.
Misa took a step closer to me while the stepping felt so calm and in a more chilling way, her face still devoid of any warmth, any regret. She looked down at me, huddled on the floor, my face streaked with tears and grime, my body shaking with sobs.
“Anything you ever told me any of it?” My question, that desperate plea for a shred of truth, hung in the air between us.
Misa looked at me for a long moment, and then she spoke.
Her voice, when she did, was quiet, devoid of the empathy, the warmth I had thought I knew.
“No, Leila,”
