I was forced into this war more than two decades ago. An innocent, thrust into battle with nothing to his name but his hands and wits.
But that’s not fair, is it?
I’ve never hurt yours, but yours have hurt mine.
Someone must speak, they must explain, or they must pay.
--------------------------------
My phone vibrates in my pocket, drawing my attention away from Jay’s hurrying hands as he types and Soph edits his shit. Abigail’s name flashes on the screen, and though now is a really bad time for me to take a personal call, I’m reminded of why I came in here in the first place.
I want to go home.
I take my phone in my left hand, and point at the fighting couple with my right. “I want to go home. You can deal with your penpal, but I’m out.”
I walk out of the room and pass a quietly watchful Romeo as I go. Sliding my thumb over the screen, I allow my brain to switch gears, and my anger to make way for a smile. “Hey, Priss. You have no clue how glad I am to hear your voice right now.”
“Spencer!” Her cry is a scream. Her sobs, knives to my heart. “Oh my god, Spencer.”
I dash into my room and slam the door. “Abigail? Baby, what’s wrong?”