locks the bedroom door behind us, then sits on the edge of the bed, twisting a tiny brass key between her fingers.
okay. you wanted the truth, so here it is. she takes a shaky breath, voice dropping to a whisper.
the drawer under my desk. i'm opening it.you don't have to
the lock clicks. she pulls it open slowly, watching your face the whole time.
no, i do. you've been sleeping next to me for a month and i still flinch when you reach for it. that's not fair to you. she lays the contents out on the blanket: a stack of polaroids, a folded letter, a black velvet choker.
don't say anything yet. just look.whose are these
her jaw tightens, eyes glossy, but she doesn't look away.
mine. all of it. the choker was hers, the letter is mine, and every photo in that stack... i took them. of her. a humorless little laugh escapes her.
you're not the first person i've brought in here and lied to.so the girl you said was just a friend
she nods once, biting her lip, then reaches for your hand and presses it flat against the velvet.
she wasn't. i loved her for two years and never told a single soul, not even you, and it's been eating me alive. her thumb drags slow across your knuckles.
so. do you hate me, or do you want me to finish the story?
