As much as I want to run, I won’t. I won’t run away from my fears. The bad thoughts in my head will truly never go away. It’s my job to ignore them. I keep my steps strong and my head held high like the bad bitch I am.
Leonidas is just as bad as him!
My nose scrunches up. Licking my lips, I shake my head slightly to get rid of the horrible thoughts that I don’t agree with.
Remember, Trinity, he didn’t pull the trigger. His heart is made of gold. Dad was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He’s the killer of your dad!
My chest heaves as panic overtakes the sensible part of me. My eyes glaze over with tears as I chant to myself,Fight them. You’ll always be stronger.
A sudden blow to the chest has me falling down onto the ground. My palms scrape against the sidewalk, and the burning feeling makes more tears come to my eyes.
“I’m so sorry!” a feminine voice chokes out.
I find a girl around my age on the floor opposite of me. Her wavy black hair flows down her back messily. Her eyes are big, innocent-looking. She looks to be on the shorter side.
Dusting off her hands, she lets out a chuckle. “I’m so clumsy. Are you okay?” Her voice is soft-spoken.
I know she’s not from around here. She has a Canadian or American accent.
I wave her off and frown at my red palm. “Don’t worry about it. I was a little distracted anyway.”
She offers me a smile as she rises from the floor. I grip her hand as she helps me up.
“I’m Lily,” she says with a smile as I smooth down my shirt.
“Trinity.”
“You’re not from around here,” Lily states more than points out.
I shake my head while looking around. “No, I’m not. I’m here with my boyfriend.” I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not from here either.”
“I’m Greek,” she says with a proud smile. “But I was born and raised in LA.”
So, she’s American. Huh, I knew it. Well, I half-knew it … whatever.
“Where are you from?” she asks as we drift off to the side of the sidewalk, letting people pass.
I lean my back on a storefront’s glass window.
“I’m from the land of maple syrup, moose, and igloos,” I joke with her.
She nods in understanding.
She snaps her fingers. “I’m taking a wild guess. You’re Canadian.”
I laugh while nodding.
I hate the typical stereotypes of Canadians. News flash: I only eat maple syrup with my waffles and pancakes in the mornings, I’ve never seen a damn moose in my life, and I live in a house.
She raises an eyebrow. “It must be freezing there all the time?”
I punch her shoulder lightly.
“I’m just joking. I know it doesn’t snow all the time.”
I mutter, “Thank God.”
