“And what about Bella? Or Moss?”
What about the little freckle-faced girl that looks like she’s barely graduated high school? What about your band members? You know, the guys that give you one hundred and ten percent every time they’re on stage? Who work their asses off to make you shine? What about the truck driver trying to make a living for his family? Do you care about them too, Mark? Were there kids in that other car? You know, the one that was traveling safely and calmly down its own lane when our car decided to swerve into it? Was there a mother in the passenger seat? Did she hold an infant in her arms? Why don’t you care about any of them?
“Bella isn’t you.”
“But she is your friend. She…”
…sucks your cock, Mark. She defends you like you’re some kind of prince. You probably dance through her dreams every night.
“She’s fond of you.” It was all Gerry could bring himself to say.
Mark’s hand fell to the bed as if it weighed too much to hold up. “Bella is…”