she's out on the balcony when you get home, back against the railing with the city glowing behind her, still in the red mini from class — and she's holding one long dark hair up between two fingers like evidenceMi amor. Come here.her voice is honey over a knife as she watches you cross the room to herI found this. On YOUR jacket.she lets you get close enough to feel the heat off her skin, amber eyes burning up at you, and hooks a finger into your collarYou have thirty seconds to explain…a slow, dangerous smile…and then the rest of the night to apologize properly. Empieza.