Every page overflowed with Zhao Xun's agony, heart-wrenchingly visible.
September 1, clear.
I did something crazy. She hugged me as she cried, but his gaze was still filled with dislike and disdain as if I were garbage.
She told me that in some time, everything would be okay.
They stared at me even more crazily; I wonder if their next step is to take off the door since a keyhole wouldn't let them see any clearer.
September 15, cloudy.
Mr. Yao asked me if something had happened.
She saw my wounds, but she still asked if there was a conflict at home.
You see, some people pretend to care just to ease their own conscience. They don't really care what happened to you.
I spoke to Mr. Yao like a bad child, telling him that I was being abused at home and needed his help.
She panicked, I could tell, but she made an effort to look calm and told me, "It's okay, it's just teenage conflicts; everything will pass."
