scribblingwren avatar


His room didn’t smell good, a bit like the changing rooms after cross country. The only light was pushing its way in through a slit in the curtains.
“Who knows you’re here?”
It felt like a throw away question. Like he didn’t even care what my answer was.
That made it so much worse.
As soon as I answered his little smile made me wish I’d thought first, made me want to grab the word back, swap it for another one.
Change it for a comforting one like Mum or Dad.
A lie.
But sometimes they were OK. Weren’t they?

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