“What’s this?” I heard him ask moments before his fingertips grazed my neck, right above the collar of my school shirt. “Your neck is bruised.” Panic seized my heart as I felt him shift more of my hair aside and touch my neck again. “Shannon?” Johnny repeated. “How’d you get this?” “It’s old,” I croaked out, still gasping for air. “Doesn’t look old,” he replied, touching my neck.
