The Way He Looked at Me
He tracks every step I take, lazy and precise, his jaw tightening whenever I drift closer.
“No,” I say evenly. Too evenly. “I don’t think the socks are a power move.”
Something’s wrong with my voice. I hear it the second the words leave my mouth. Wrong, unsteady like I’ve stepped onto a ledge without realizing how high the drop is. I have no plan. No destination. Just a tight, fluttering sensation low in my belly that tells me I’m about to do something reckless.
Something I won’t be able to take back.
“This is.”