“W-W-What the fuck are you going on about, and who the hell is this Jerome?” she hisses through clenched teeth.
“J-J-Jerome’s the son-of-a-bitch who paid you to sit here and tell me your BULLSHIT story.”
Her eyes tell him more than he needs to know, and suddenly the dryness in his mouth is replaced by what seems like a cup full of razorblades.
“A-A-Are you okay?” she stammers as she grips him tightly by the shoulder and squeezes.
“D-D-Do you swear on your life that you don’t know Jerome, and everything you’ve told me is one hundred percent true?”