zuzhiduomou
[ ——» ☼ «—— ]
it’s strange, she thinks. his face is different than the last time, sharper. his hair is longer -- he looks grown up. ( she can feel his fist in the front of her shirt, the rock pressed to her back as he spat in her face. she would laugh, but she’s learned to conceal that kind of thing -- at least until she can rub it in. ) she wonders if she looks grown up too. she waits for him to catch sight of her. the rest have already seen her, already snarled in her face. ( not locked away long enough , it seems. ) she’s sure that when he does look her way, that old familiar rage will return, and she’ll have the satisfaction of being the cause.








