John was dressed but hadn’t showered, nor had he shaved. He had put on a button down shirt and different jeans. His eyebrows pressed downward, and his eyes were on her hand, which he was holding. He seemed to be following the paths of freckles on the back of her hand and up her arm. “Remember what you said? About the freckles?”
Nina’s heart started to throb, she knew what was coming, and wanted to press him on why he’d gotten dressed. “Blood Freckles.” She said, clearing her throat. She pulled the sheet up over her in an attempt to avert the goosebumps. She’d said it because his arms were covered in tiny red dots of blood after Jeremy shot himself. She’d been holding him on the front steps of her house as the police came. They looked like freckles.
He smiled and looked up at her. “They had had to force me to wash them off.” He looked down at her hand.
“I wouldn’t come inside that night.”
He looked up at her. “Really?”
“My dad dragged me inside, praying against whatever had possessed me. I kicked and screamed.” She looked up into his face. “I thought Jeremy was still there. I wanted to try and…talk to him.”
I need to get my head back into this and figure out what to do with John. Fretting over my very own imaginary person. Somehow fitting for me.
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