It wasn’t soccer either, as strange as that seems. No. It was lock picking. There’d always been something therapeutic about it. Calming. It’d be...n that way since I picked my step-mom’s jewelry box as a kid. My father would always say it was just my way of acting out; that I was pissed off at the world for stealing ma. Maybe. Whatever helped him ignore the truth, I guess. And the truth was, I hated the gold-digging bitch and it felt good to send her into anxiety attacks each time her favorite. I was sure that I could trust her around John. At least I hoped I could. So does John hate me? Kim asked as she hung her head. Kim sat there beside me with her head looking at the floor. My god I never thought I would see the day that Kim hung her head down low. I felt sorry for her myself as she looked down at the floor as she spoke. I know he thinks I am a BITCH and he is right. The way I treated you and tried to break you guys apart just so I could be with him. I felt you both had betrayed. He was around six feet tall, with a physically lean but athletic figure worthy of inspiring many wet dreams that semester. I always couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to have him pin me up against the wall and grind himself against me, but I would always snap at myself, trying to control my train of thoughts. My healthy sexual imagination did nothing to help alleviate the wetness, Professor Carter inspired between my legs. He was married and my teacher, and so at best he could only at. I dropped my pants and boxers.“Back toward me, boy.”The beam of a flashlight pierced the air and jumped around until I saw it no more, indicating it was illuminating my ass.“Now, answer some questions.”The hermit carried me through a list of questions, the same kind Andy had asked that first day when I met her. The questions were to confirm my correct identity. I answered all of them.“Mary, you answer a question,” the hermit said. “Is this Dave Wilson, Bert’s son?”“Yes, Hermit,” she.
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