“I know this, Treanna, because, believe it or not, I was nineteen once, myself. And when this happens… come to me again, and we will talk.” She sipped her tea, her eyes smirking at me. “I’ll enjoy it.”
I sold him, of course.
I didn’t want to. I was entirely in love with him, a little more gone than was reasonable. And selling him without him ever getting him to love me was admitting defeat.
But I’d started to grow up, even as my mother got more and more ill. And looking at him, I couldn’t help but remember every childish tantrum, every teenaged secret I’d whispered in my ear. He’d known me at my worst. No wonder he’d never love me.
When you reach a certain point, you put away the pink diary and the teddy bears and the dolls. When you reach that point again, it’s time to move on from your first companion.
I bid him a quiet, respectful, tearful goodbye, and sold him to the best broker in town, demanding – and getting – promises about his well-being and the type of place to which they’d sell him. He’d do well. He was so very well…
There (exactly) ends 750 words… *evil laughter*
(note: I’m not THAT evil. I’ve already written another 150)
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