Abigail
The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your skin prickle and your thoughts grow louder than they should be.
I sat cross-legged on the thick carpet of my bedroom, staring at the ceiling, my fingers twisting a strand of my hair over and over again. Then I heard the glass frame crash and before I could stop myself, I was spying down the railing on Alexander and mom.
She was looking at him in a way I didn’t recognize, but knew was some kind of love. Her eyes only did that when she cared.
“We’re leaving.”
After she said then, I crawled back to my room, quiet as a mouse. Shutting my door, my back pressed to the wood.
I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him—Alexander. But how could I not? Every time he shows up, it felt like the air changed, like everything tilt
