FUCK!
Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!
I still stared at the mirrored letters, not turning the paper around, as my heart beat so fast that I was nearly having a heart attack.
"Kenny? What's wrong?" Henry stood up and started to walk to me, so I put the forty or so pieces of paper back to the past—every one of them but the last page, which I now folded into a little square.
I conjured up a black tracksuit jacket with a breast pocket on the inside and changed out of mine that had none, then put the square in said pocket and zipped it shut before pulling the zipper of the jacket up as far as I could.
I cleared my throat.
"Nothing."
"What did my present self write?" Henry came closer, adopting a dangerous look.
I ran my hands through my hair, holding onto it as I still felt shaken to my core.
"Stuff a dog would write." I chuckled breathlessly.
"Why won't you tell me?" He asked, placing his hands on my shoulders while I still had mine in my hair.
