He was her lover. That’s what she’d told me.
I hated that word. It was so… graphic. I mean, for god’s sake, he was old enough to be her grandfather. She was all of about 20 and he knew it.
I think that’s what made it all worse. He should have known better, but then again, he was just a man; a man with urges who obviously didn’t know about the line that should never be crossed.
I hated to think what they did when they were alone together. I hated to think that a dirty old man would put his hands on my sister.
I wanted to put my hands on him too.
Around his neck.