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I endured the cramp and stomach pain, trying again to save myself. I managed it, I breathed in a mouthful of fresh air. I could definitely live.
When my face broke the surface again, a familiar but cold voice came from beside me. “Bitch, go die.”
A hand that had once brought me warmth pressed down on my face.
Milo had come, not to save me, but to kill me.
I do not look back after the hotel vanishes behind the bend of the coastal road. The Gulf Shores night slides past the …
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When I was ten years old, I once cried and begged my mother and grandmother to go next door and formally ask for the ne…
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