I am very, very, very, very uncomfortable. Note the many ‘very’!
And no, it’s not just because Shawn Crawford–who was looking like a lunatic five minutes ago in the waiting room–is now strolling down the corridor acting like Trey and I don't even exist. That kind of sudden, eerie peace should make me happy, but it terrifies me instead. I know Shawn. With the twisted way that confrontation ended, I can guarantee with one hundred percent certainty that he’s cooking up something demonic under his sleeve.
But my impending doom takes a back seat to my current, far more pressing physical reality.
What’s topping my level of discomfort is the plain, horrifying fact that I’m currently walking across campus with my panties completely soaked in my own runaway release.
Let me tell you: there is no
