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I sat there, frozen, the glow of the TV screen reflecting off the silver studs on her collar. She smelled like clove cigarettes and expensive vanilla. Every time she turned a page, I could feel the slight movement of her shoulders against mine. She was "mean" Jade—the girl who terrified the neighborhood—and yet, in the quiet of the room, there was a strange, suffocating gravity to her presence that made it impossible for me to move, even if I wanted to.
"Move," she commanded, her voice like velvet wrapped in barbed wire. F4M-Your-Friends-Mean-Goth-Sister-Sits-on-Your-...
The door creaked open, but it wasn't Leo. It was Jade, his older sister. She was the personification of a storm cloud—black platform boots, tattered fishnets, and a perpetual scowl framed by hair the color of midnight. She didn't look at me; she just marched over to the beanbag chair I was occupying. I sat there, frozen, the glow of the
She didn't argue. She didn't even roll her eyes. She simply turned around and sat down—not on the edge of the beanbag, but directly on my lap. She was "mean" Jade—the girl who terrified the
"Quiet," she muttered, shifting her weight to get comfortable, her sharp elbow digging slightly into my ribs. "You’re softer than the floor. Consider yourself useful for once."
The rain lashed against the window of Leo’s bedroom, providing a gloomy soundtrack to our third hour of mindless gaming. Leo had stepped out to grab more snacks, leaving me alone in the dim light of his LED strips.