Sitting in the back of the class,your eyes are on her. On who’s lap she’s sitting on, because it isn’t yours. It infuriates you, the sight of her arms around someone else’s neck, her lips locked on someone else’s. “Tell me, Adelaide, does he know who you call while he’s asleep? Does he know who’s house you stay at when he’s not home? Does he know who touches you, better than he ever could? Does he know who’s name you scream?” stunned, she can’t respond, so you sit there, waiting.
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