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201. History
~ RIG ~
When we’d settled into our seats, my hand gripped to a fist on the arm of my chair, and Stephen gripping his own ankle like it was a parachute, I just waited.
I couldn’t stop staring at Stephen, trying to wrap my head around the fact that he was there. And he let me. He didn’t bristle at the scrutiny. I’d told him to tell me the story of what happened with Dad, and he was clearly trying to figure out where to start.
His eyes went distant and he shook his head. “You aren’t wrong about it all being really fucked up,” he muttered. “But you aren’t right about why you think I did it, either. So… just let me paint the whole picture before you jump in, okay?”
I shrugged my reluctant agreement and waited.<
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