But he didn’t. He kept watching.
The comments section was a cacophony of support, punctuated by a few lone voices of reason: That’s stealing, Jen.
David watched her face. Beneath the bravado, he saw the raw, bleeding truth. She wasn’t a thief. She was a girl drowning in the shallow end of the pool, and the boy who promised to teach her to swim was too busy leveling up a digital avatar to notice she was going under. Mysonsgf Jenny
David’s thumb hovered over the ‘Report’ button. He should wake Liam. He should march into his son’s room and say, Your girlfriend is in my bedroom, live-streaming to four hundred strangers with your mother’s heirloom.
DUMP HIM He’s a boy. We need a MAN.
“He doesn’t understand,” Jenny hissed, tears now spilling down her cheeks. “He thinks I’m just ‘high-maintenance.’ He thinks a dozen roses on a Tuesday fixes everything. But you know. You know what it’s like to need to feel chosen.”
The screen flickered to life. Jenny was in what looked like a closet, a tight space wallpapered in a faded rose print. Her blonde hair was piled in a messy bun, and her eyes, even through the compression of a live stream, were wide and glossy. But he didn’t
He didn’t mean to click. But curiosity, that old devil, got the better of him.
She slipped the chain over her head. The locket settled against her collarbone, glinting in the dim light. For a moment, she looked like a child playing dress-up. Then her expression hardened. David watched her face
The notification popped up on David’s phone at 11:47 PM. @MysonsgfJenny started a live video.