As we ran around a bend, a woman’s familiar scratchy voice carried on the wind and said, “Go, best friend!” Sadie was nearby. I hated that bitch. From the way John swore, he agreed. I’d been sick with rage when I’d listened to Aran and her have sex in the shower. It didn’t matter that Arabella was a girl; I knew what I’d heard. Every slap. Every moan. At the time I’d convinced myself that it had sounded off. That they were faking it.
