1642734778_punk-57-pdf

I knock his arm away, my stomach tight with anger. But he locks me in
again, bearing down.
“Was that what Delilah was waiting for, too?” he presses. “Did she wait
for you? And you never showed?”
He grabs my hand and turns my finger, showing me what he wrote.
I look down at the thick black letters written on the inside of my finger.
Shame.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t say anything. Your secrets are yours.
You have to live with them.”
And then he lifts my finger to his lips, making the shh sign.
I pull my hand away and slam my hands into his chest, pushing him off.
“The next time he lays a hand on me, I’ll end him,” he warns, curling
his lips in a smirk. “And then I’ll take his prom date.”