Hazel
The food had entirely lost its appeal. The fluffy scrambled eggs now looked like yellow rubber, and the toast felt like ash in her mouth. Hazel sat on the edge of the couch for another five minutes, aggressively wiping the sticky orange juice from her thigh with a napkin, her skin flushed and overly sensitive where the cold liquid had hit.
She could hear him in the kitchen. The clink of a glass. The rush of the tap. The sound of him swallowing. It was infuriating how hyper-aware she was of his every movement. Silas had only been living with them for a short time, but his presence had fundamentally altered the gravity of the house. He wasn't just her brother's best friend; he was an invasive force, a dark storm cloud that had settled permanently over her previously quiet life.
Gat
