
The living room smelled of old leather and the faint, citrusy tang of ice tea James is having. Lucy paced the length of the Persian rug, her bare feet slapping softly against the weave. She wore a thin, oversized t-shirt that skimmed her thighs, her fingers twisting obsessively at the hem. Every few seconds, she let out a sharp, jagged sigh that echoed in the quiet house.






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