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... ir lips pressed together. Her hands fisted in his shirt. His body against hers.
I kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Don’t feel.
But I felt everything.
The jealousy. The betrayal. The sick, twisted irony of it all.
He’d told me to stay away from him. He’d paid me like a whore. He’d made it perfectly clear I was nothing.
And yet some stupid part of me had still hoped—
No. Stop it.
I was done hoping. Done d ...
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