I bend and kiss Cignette’s temple, then let my eyes fall shut as I inhale the smell of her hair, and her skin. Oranges – she smells like fucking oranges. “I was…sixteen when I killed her,” I tell her. The words just tumble out of my fucking mouth, like they were aching to be set free or some shit. Cignette stiffens against me, and momentary silence fills the air as I wait for her to say something. But then, mercifully, she starts turning around, and when our eyes meet, I’m relieved when I don’t see any fear or uncertainty on her face. “Who?” she asks, then tilts her head. I swallow, and I
...more
