It wasn’t like me to leave stuff lying around the place, but my head was in the clouds. Cloud Johnny, to be precise. I knew I had played a dangerous game of Russian roulette by taking him up to my bedroom this afternoon. If my father had come home, he would have killed me. The problem was, if the opportunity presented itself, I knew I would do it again. Having him in my space like that, even just for a little while, was wonderful. It was personal. And I felt safe. Like nothing could touch me when he was close. In a messed-up way, I think I did it on purpose? Like I half hoped my father would
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