Lisa Castecka | lisawiththegoodbooks

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Just as I’m about to wiggle my way out of his grip, he tightens it. “It’s too fucking early,” he mumbles, voice muffled by sleepiness. “What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to get out of bed. He won’t let me. “I’m trying to sleep, but you’re being annoying.”
Underneath the Sycamore Tree
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