(no subject)
Shelley opens the door quietly when she gets home. She's tired. Not sleeping well - it's catching up with her, slowly - and then a busy day running around at work takes it out of you rather. And now a stretch of evening watching her back, trying to avoid Elan in her own house. Not much to look forward to.
He's there again, sitting on the coach and reading.
The living room smells like cleaning fluid.
She rolls her eyes to herself and shuts the door behind her.
He's there again, sitting on the coach and reading.
The living room smells like cleaning fluid.
She rolls her eyes to herself and shuts the door behind her.