Lewis volumed up the television and kept the doors wide open before he went to shower. Devon convinced herself that it was merely her imagination — a product of her guilt — so she didn't bother him anymore.
"It's only an imagination," Devon whispered to herself as she nodded, unable to concentrate on the drama airing at the moment. "Just… guilt."
Her expression turned bitter as the seed of guilt in her heart had grown into a sprout. She buried her face in her palms.
How could others not feel any sense of guilt or the slightest tug in their conscience when they did something vile? Were the questions hovering in her head, while she had to lament being thrust into another person's body?
Devon took a deep breath as she encouraged herself not to dwell on it. But it was impossible.
