Kevin looks at me and I know he isn’t seeing the little girl I use to be, all pigtails and gangly limbs. He isn’t seeing my mother’s daughter or even my mother anymore. As his eyes linger over me, stopping here and there in the most uncomfortable places, I know he isn’t really even seeing me as I am. The bloodshot eyes staring out of the alcohol-flushed face are seeing a girl, nearly of age, who owes him a tremendous debt of gratitude.–Rocky Evans

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What do you mean ‘has to be?’ and what are you smiling at?” I stopped contributing to this ridiculous dance. I grabbed the teapot and began to fill it with water in the sink.
Suddenly I felt the slight weight go this body against my back and the corner of his mouth brushed adjacent my ear.
“How human you are,” he whispered.

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