By Kate Newton
The voices come in wisps and hums beyond the bedroom door, muffled at times, then sharp and correcting in staccato tones.
“Stop. Just stop. Think.”
“But I—”
“Quiet.”
A harsh exhale—exasperated. Annoyed panic, then murmurs. A shuffling sound, someone pacing on the wooden floor, making creaks.
“I told you it was too much.”
“He weighs like two-eighty.”
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