C18 Heart and Broken

Ephene

The cad.

The nail of my index digs into my palm as I do my best to sit still in my tent.

"How dare he?" I mutter, now crossing my arms across my chest.

An old -and bad- childhood habit of mine, warranted that I pierced anything to release my anger.

Usually this came in the form of butterknifes, pens, and the unfortunate butchered remains of soft fruits and plush pillows