Just as I was about to put the books away, I turned and collided with a cold, solid wall of flesh. "Ah—" I quickly stepped back, accidentally bumping into the bookshelf. "You... what are you doing in here?"
He glanced mockingly at the pile of books by the door. "Hah... Did you really think a stack of books could keep me out?"
The once-cozy space became cramped with his presence. His oppressive aura was suffocating, freezing the very air around us.
Annoyed, I retorted, "Who said I was trying to stop you? I—I was just stacking books like blocks, okay?!"
He simply stared at me, expressionless, and said nothing. "Margie..."
Only then did I realize how unfamiliar and hollow that address sounded. The old Lionel used to call me "Margie" with such tenderness—just a single glance from him could warm my heart.
