Buku Temper by Layne Fargo
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Buku Temper by Layne Fargo

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Deskripsi

Jual Buku
Temper by Layne Fargo

Author:Layne Fargo

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Gallery/Scout Press

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Temper by Layne Fargo

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42

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Psychological Thrillers

Temper by Layne Fargo

Author:Layne Fargo , Date: July 3, 2019

,Views: 106

Author:Layne Fargo

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Gallery/Scout Press
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42

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JOANNA

MAL LETS ME TOUCH MY thumb to his lip and swipe away the blood beaded there.

“What happened?” I ask. More blood has already welled up to take the place of what I wiped off. The split is deep; I can see the tissue underneath his skin, pink and pulsing.

“We should go to bed,” he says.

“But you’re hurt.” I reach toward his mouth again. This time he stops me, taking my hand, covering it with his own. “Tell me what happened. Did someone mug you, or—”

You know who did this. The thought comes to me with such sudden, declarative force, it’s like someone shouting in my ear.

He’s still holding my hand. He threads his fingers through mine. “Come to bed, Jo.”

He leads me into my own room, dragging me along beside him like I’ve never been there before, like I don’t know the way. It’s too dark to make out his expression, but I can see the whites of his eyes shining. He lies down on the bed, still wearing the shoes I picked out for him to wear to the fundraiser, the polished leather stark against the field of faded blue flowers on my quilt.

We used to sleep next to each other all the time. Back when we couldn’t afford real beds, just twin air mattresses laid out on the floor of the loft. Whenever we needed to make room for rehearsals or performances, we’d deflate them and stow them in the bathtub. But most nights, we pushed them together and stayed up until all hours, talking about plans for our next show like girls whispering in their bunks at summer camp. We’d fall asleep side by side, surrounded by books, papers, half-eaten plates of food. Sometimes touching each other, sometimes not.

Mal’s eyes are shut now, but he finds my waist, pulls me down with him. One of my shoes slips off, clattering to the floor beside the bed. My pencil skirt has ridden up, wrinkling around my hips, exposing a swath of pale skin above my knees.

I don’t even remember what I wanted to say to him. All the speeches I wrote and rewrote in my head. The second I saw he was bleeding, my rage burned off like fog.

He ended up bleeding during the first performance of Hamlet, too. Our replacement Laertes accidentally scratched him while they were grappling over Ophelia’s grave, and by the end of the scene, Mal had blood leaking into his eye.

But he wasn’t upset. In fact, he liked the way it looked, the edge it lent to the scene. So much so that he reopened the wound himself every night, digging his thumbnail into the spot until red seeped out again. He has a small scar there to this day, cutting through his eyebrow.

Mal rests his head against my shoulder, breathing already slowing as he slips into sleep. I don’t need him to tell me a thing, I already know.

Kira is the one who made him bleed.

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