And as I stepped back inside, slipping my feet into my flip-flops before ducking back out and taking the stairs to the verandah below, I remembered how hot the shame of being his victim had felt. It singed in a way that would leave a mark, but his actions also validated something I’d been curious about since that stolen kiss outside the dorms at school. I’d managed to crawl beneath his skin, and call me desperate—we already knew I was—but I’d much rather live there than not exist to him at all.
