C62 Sixty-two

The hand weaving through my scalp applies more pressure when I make to lift my head in her direction, tugging gently on my hair. A sigh slips past my lips, there is no point trying, Clarissa won’t give back my phone. I shouldn’t demand it since all I have gotten is a truckload of news with captions that send my already broken heart into overdrive.

But I still want to see it