"Come, Bel. Let me take care of this.” Why is he looking at me like that, and what is he talking about? What is there to take care of? I try to shrug out of his hold, but his grasp is ironclad. “There is nothing to take care of. I’m done with him, and I don’t give a fuck if I ever see him again.” “I understand that, but they don’t get to treat you like this. To toss you out like trash. You’re not trash. You’re fucking
