E I G H T

Ramsay woke up extremely early that Sunday. He took a full-body shower, brushed his teeth, and shaved. Before that, though, he had gone for a run on the river’s edge, hoping to see the blonde girl before their date in a few hours. That mission failed; Emmie hadn’t been there.

Now, sitting on the small, crappy kitchen table, he was nervously chewing on an apple—his third. They never had much food at home, but when they did, it was usually bought by him, not his dad, and gone with a day. That’s why Ramsay preferred to eat at Carl’s; he had the freedom to eat all of it and pay a small amount of money.

As Ramsay heard his father’s steps down the hall, he glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned, letting his head fall onto his nape. “Morning.”

BT stopped on the small doorway, narrowing his eyes a bit. “Morning…” He made his way into the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the last three eggs and the few slices of bacon they still had left. Then, cracking