[CAMI]
Zeke doesn’t come. Not in the night, not in the morning, not at all.
He doesn’t barge into our room or drag me out by the wrist, doesn’t carry me, scooped up in his arms like a lover. The silence he leaves in his wake is worse because it makes me restless about his next move, about what’s on his mind.
I don’t ask Marco where he is. But my head won’t shut up. Maybe he’s already on his way to Vance, finishing what he started. Maybe by the time I blink, I’ll hear the gunshot echoing in memory. I will be an orphan, the thought resonates in my head.
Or maybe he’s tangled up with Naomi, getting his c**k wet. While I’m here chewing on the taste of death, he could be balls-deep in her. It makes me want to claw skin, break glass, burn the world, and hate myself until the feeling itself
