Day 7 words: AWKWARD – STREAK – HITCH.
Teeny was sobbing, his face buried in his streaky-wet hands, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to, could imagine how pitiful he looked, and how ashamed he would be when he eventually stopped. Unless nobody saw him. And there had been nobody around.
Teeny hitched in a breath and snort-coughed it out awkwardly, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, thinking he’d heard someone speak.
“I know where she went, kid.”
Teeny quickly gave his eyes one last wipe and looked up, desperate to meet the owner of that voice and learn what they knew.