Sylvia's P.O.V.
Not every day was effortless.
Uncle Thomas used to take long walks at night and come back with red rimmed eyes and sometimes even blood stained fists.
Sometimes he couldn't even look at me.
It was lonely.
It was only us two. And Billy.
But he never came over any more. My only friend was gone.
Uncle Thomas kept telling me he didn't want to be my friend. That he wanted to use me.
I never believed him. I knew he was lying to keep me with him. I wished he wouldn't. He didn't need to. All he needed to do was touch me.
He had me.
Forever.
YOU ARE READING
21 Brook Street
Short StorySometimes things that shouldn't happen... happen. Sometimes the most twisted of things are the most beautiful. Sometimes you just can't move on.
