Trace
I gaze steadily ahead before I aim and shoot, the bullets going through the bullseye every time. I do this several times before I reload my weapon and start again. The boom of the bullets striking the target is muffled by the sound-canceling headphones I’m wearing.
However, my mind isn’t on the paper target standing twenty feet away. No, my mind is on a certain beauty with soulful brown eyes and lips that haunt my dreams.
I’ve been at this for a couple of hours but have yet to find a resolution for my current situation. I want Wren more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Even more, than I remember wanting a family when I was a child.
It was so bad that I had to prevent myself from rushing to her apartment and knocking on her door. I feel out of control and obsessed the
