Becoming Nothing

I sat on the armchair in Trent’s room, watching him lie in bed, propped up against the headboard, laptop on his lap. We’d spent so many nights like this, reading Twitter and giggling at YouTube videos. He couldn’t see me, of course. I knew he was sad. I knew everything now. So I also knew he’d move on. Read the rest at The Thieving Magpie.

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