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... e keyboard. I started to type: Really? I deleted it.
I started again: Where are you?
Deleted.
I locked the phone and shoved it into my pocket. He was drunk. He was making terrible decisions. He was a child playing with a blowtorch, hoping I’d smell the smoke and come running. He wanted my attention? Well, he’d just earned a lifetime’s worth of it in a single second.
"I need to leave," I said, standing up so abruptly my chair scraped harshly against the floor.
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