Turning away from them, I go towards my bed and trip over the comics I’d thrown. My knees hit the floor. Farrow bends down, his arms around me while I crumple. A gnarled sound I’ve never heard myself make suddenly ruptures out of my lungs, and I choke on a scream. The scream morphs into me crying into my hoodie. I hate this feeling that claws at me. I hate it so much.
