I have a question:
"Tired of what?"
"To pretend that I don't give a damn what you do, say or wear."
He looks at my dress for a while, closes his eyes for a moment, then looks at me in the eye again and continues:
"I can't stop thinking about you."
This is not easy to hear, and it seems even harder for him to admit it. Ever since that morning I accidentally walked into my room and got into that bed with me.
I swallow hard and try to push the thoughts out of my mind. He continues:
"Do you have any idea what it's like for me to hear you in the next room, to see you walk past me in those clothes, but to know that the only one who will take them off you is my brother? And I hate myself every time I really want to be in his shoes."
I hold my breath for a moment. He brings a hand t
