Deshea Surratt

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“Stay still. I’m trying to get this mark off you.”  “What mark?”  “I love you,” she says, although it comes out like a question rather than a statement.  “I love you, too, but you’re being really weird right now.”  “I meant the words on your back.”  “What wo—” Oh. My. God.  The room tilts, and it’s a struggle to draw air into my lungs. 
The Words
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