“This feels like the time I sat in a fountain once,” she told me. “The water spilled around us, shielding us. Hiding us. It was like a world within a world. One of my worst memories but also one of my best.” I smoothed my wet hair over my head over and over again, that day like yesterday in my memory. If only she knew the boy she was with in the fountain was the boy who just fucked her. Did she still hate him?
