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He’s gripping ht it’s hard to talk, and when he notices that, he loosens his hold on me

But that only makes it worse Because now his touch feels almost like a caress—too intimate, too tender

“I was… at Club 47 with a few friends that night,” I say slowly, h and quiet “It was… I didn’t want to be there anyarette in the alley, then decided to get a cab ho down the sidehen I passed you and your friends And that’s when”—pop pop pop—“I heard gunshots That’s when I fell” I h I can barely catchplace at the wrong time That’s all It was an accident”

He freezes His leg is still shoved between nore the dull ache building between hs as he stares down at me

I can see hiainst some internal barometer

Believebelieve me

The words slipped off h And why shouldn’t they?

I’ve told myself that exact same story hundreds of ti small details here and there to support the version of events I want to believe

That it was an accident

That I didn’t choose to step between this man and three bullets

That I was siirl ent out with so time

That it was bad luck, and nothing more

Marcus considersI start to feel like we’ve been trapped in soer exists

Nothing else can penetratepoints of contact where his skinainstbetweenpinned by him

Then he shakes his head suddenly, the movement sharp and decisive