He finally sobered up, and gulped down whatever nervousness he had.

“I’d get down on my knees and beg for her forgiveness.”

“Oh? You think that’d repent for it?” I said, making sure I was giving him the iciest glower I could muster.

“I would tell her about everything that I hid so she would understand what was going on.”

“Well, suppose that she didn’t want to hear it?” I asked coolly, laying back with Scooter in my lap.

“Then I’d just make her listen.”

“Really? I didn’t know you could force someone to listen,” I said sarcastically, stroking Scooter to relieve my tension.

“I’m sure that if the secret keeper had a good reason, the writer would listen.”

My hand slightly twitched at the nickname he’d given me.

Part of me was screaming : ‘Jerk, liar, fiend!’

And the other was saying : ‘Hear him out!’

I didn’t conform to either. I could hear heavy footfalls coming up to the door, and I timed my answer with them.

“See? This is the reason the writer has no friends.”

“Brigh! I’m home!”