“You set yourself up, because you’re bad at this.” “At what?” “Snooping around.” “I wasn’t—” “Why did you go to my room? Why did you look through my closet and my drawers?” He leans forward. His voice drops to a half whisper, meant only for my ears. There’s something tortured to it, like he’s in physical pain. “Why did my bed smell like you slept in it?”
AHHHHHHH
