FWB
There, sitting at the top against the wall, so still I almost disregarded her as a trashcan or other school facet, is Lana.
Tears stream quietly down her twisted face. Her chest rises and falls in steady, forcibly-controlled breaths, as she tries to calm herself down. She must hear me approach because she pries her wet, long lashes apart. Once she sees it’s me, something in her familiar expression melts, and she shifts backwards. Her pink flush tints her entire face, eyebrows knotted together in something akin to sorrow.
“Kieran,” she weeps, “I’m sorry.”
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