I just wish I could sleep. Something is brewing under the surface, steadily rising inside me each day. My mask is slipping. I snapped at Logan this morning, and the way he looked at me as if I’d lost my mind made me want to jab a fork into my neck. It’s all because of Taylor. I’ve been hyper-aware of his presence since that night at the track—everywhere he fucking goes, I feel it. In the house, at school, in the gym, running drills. And even though he hasn’t messed with me in months, I find myself waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. Like, I’ll wake up and find a severed horse
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