SLOANE’S POINT OF VIEW.

The polished walls of the living room feel like they’re enclosing me as I sit with my hands tucked beneath my hoodie in an attempt to hide my spiking nerves. My parents sit before me with hesitant expressions on their faces as they avoid eye contact with me at all costs. We’ve been seated here for at least thirty minutes with nothing but silence between us.

It’s almost annoying.

I’ve had to fight the urge to scream, say fuck it, and demand ...