★ANGELITA★
I had been staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes.
Not because I couldn't sleep—I hadn't even tried. I was lying on top of the covers in my oversized shirt, arms folded across my chest, replaying Keva's words on a loop like a song I hadn't asked to learn.
This back and forth between you guys is giving me a serious migraine.
She wasn't wrong. I was giving myself a migraine too.
The problem was I didn't know what to do with it. This thing sitting in the middle of my chest that got heavier every time Zavarelli looked at me and then looked away. Every time he kissed me and then pretended the morning after that mouths hadn't touched. Every time he was warm for exactly long enough that I started to believe it, and then the temperature dropped and I was left standing in the cold wondering what I'd done wrong.
Nothing, probably. That was the infuriating part.
I sat up. You know what? No.
