The steps beneath Tella were cold, but not nearly as icy as the heartless boy who’d left her there. She’d been left by boys before, but it had never hurt this much. She wanted to get up, to walk away with her head high, as if he mattered as little to her as she apparently mattered to him. But Tella’s limbs still felt like paper, weak and thin and pathetic.
dante it's on sight
