Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Winter
Seven Years Ago
I shivered, swallowing the bad taste in my mouth. What the
hell was she doing?
I rushed up the hedge line to the bricks, turned right, my
hand grazing the bushes at my thighs, and then turned left,
running up to the back door. I twisted the handle, pushed
through, and slammed it behind me, locking it.
Bile rose in my throat. Why would my sister do that? And
at a party and in the woods? Jesus.
I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. She hadn’t mentioned
him since I’d returned home. What the hell?
I brought my hand up to my mouth, still freaked out by
what I’d heard.
Did that happen a lot? Would other people be going at it on
our lawn all night? I gagged, a little grossed out.
Maybe if I’d been here the past five years, in an average
environment, it wouldn’t have been such a shock, but damn.
Outside of movies and YouTube and the occasional late-night
convo with my friends in our dorm in Montreal, I’d never
witnessed anything close to that. It didn’t sound very…like
romantic or anything.