“She never needed to go through it,” I repeat slowly. “None of us did. I mean God, faking her own death? Who does that?” I demand. “Wren could have come to me, explained what was going on. I would have helped her! I would have done anything for her. At the very least, she could have sent me some kind of sign that she was OK. Instead… Instead, we all had to go through hell, thinking we’d lost her forever!”
There you go, anger is justified. Way to feel emotions appropriately. This writing is not awful, in bits and pieces.
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