“I thought you were different,” he said slowly. “But you’re just like your whore of a sister, pining after bastardos who treat you like dirt and who only give you a second look because you’d drop onto your knees for them any time they liked. Es patético.” He turned his back on me and walked away into the crowd, seeming to trample on my heart as he left. My lower lip quivered with rage and it took a long moment for me to pull myself back together. How dare he say that to me?
