The irony.
In an effort to not be the bad guy, Caleb grabs my wrist this morning, pulling it down, squeezing my bones so hard I almost bit my tongue in half to not cry out. He wants me to remove my guesses as to what's in his safe. He says the passports are in the group safety deposit box at the bank, which everyone, including me has access to, and that he got rid of the gun months ago at my request because sometimes Henry stays there.
He was smiling when he said it. He's a liar. I also visited the safety deposit box a week and half ago and my passport wasn't there. I'd rather keep it, next to his Visa infinite that I steal every time he turns his head and the small roll of bills I have sewn into the lining of my favorite handbag just in case but apparently no one likes my schemes and plans so what's a girl to do?
Nod and pretend I'll take the words down and then decide not to.
I suppose if I post this I have to give his credit card back again, don't I?
