His hand's warm, burning through the fabric of my t-shirt and I let out a shuddering breath, eyes welling up with tears, blurring my view of the stove.
"'s got nothin' to do with that," I say, voice hoarse to the point that it hardly sounds like mine.
no subject
"'s got nothin' to do with that," I say, voice hoarse to the point that it hardly sounds like mine.