He's gone. Dead in the floor with a bloody puddle under his body. There's notes. Why? What did she do to deserve this? She walks over to his bed, where the notes are, and she's crying. There's one for his dad. One for his mom. And one for Rosemary. That's her name.
The note reads: Dear Rosemary, I'm so sorry. I love you. I never meant to use you. There's those people, the picnic? Those people are undercover cops. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm a spy. The only way you could know is if I was dead. I'm sorry for this. I love you.
YOU ARE READING
There's No Such Thing As Too Young
أدب المراهقينHi. My name is Hannah Coalson. I wrote this because it felt like a relationship I had even though nobody was hurt. So enjoy reading this. I made this for Emma Keppe:)
