AAHIL
“What do you want?” I ask Amal as we enter Cinnabon.
“I can order for myself,” she tells me in that disgusted tone that she saves just for me.
Each time, her words draw claw marks into my heart and I accept them. She doesn’t know that I didn’t rape her and I’m not going to tell her either.
Some things are better left in the dark.
“I know you can,” I say. “But I’m going to order for myself so you can tell me what you want,”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Oreo shake,”
With a terse nod, I head over to the ordering counter.
“Hi. Can I have a MochaLatta Chill and an Oreo Shake? Both large, please,”
I pull out two crisp notes from my wallet and hand it over to the cashier.
. . .
Once I’ve placed the order, I head over to the table Amal has taken by the window. She notices me approaching
