Billie.
I woke up with a start, blinking at the ceiling as my brain struggled to boot up. My first thought: This is not the couch.
I turned my head, taking in the familiar sight of my room—the immaculate poster of Taylor Swift in her Eras tour. Aside from "imgonnagetyouback" and "Tears Ricochet" I don't know any other song. I binged those two songs after my heartbreak from the cheating douchebag.
I bought it for Little Luna. The chair looks like it wants to judge me. Definitely my room. But how?
The last thing I remembered, I had been on the couch, watching a Batman animation and silently judging every questionable decision Gotham's criminals made. Now I was here, neatly tucked in. Suspicious.
Then, I felt it.
