I want to. Every muscle in my body screams for me to do just that. Beg. Appease. Pull out the puppy dog eyes. Melt into a puddle of tears. But I quietly ask, “Is that what Mickey did before you pushed him out the window?” I feel the weight of his hand with every word, every short, gasping breath. “It didn’t seem to help him very much.” A lazy smirk transforms his face. “No, I suppose it didn’t.” Oh God.
👁👄👁!!!
