Campbell StevensIt has been a week—one torturous, long week—but I made it. Deacon hasn’t contacted me again since I left him on the steps of my apartment late that night. The g**g hasn’t come into the bar. Thank God for small miracles. Claire and I don’t talk about him, but she did tell me he has been texting her to check up on me. I wish he wouldn’t. He needs to let me go.
Contrary to his concern for my well-being in his communication with Claire, I think he knows that it’s over. My strong words to him coupled with a week without contact should tell him something, I hope.
I think about him constantly. I try to keep my mind busy, so it doesn’t wander to him, but it always does. Regardless of my attempts to redirect my thoughts, they have one end goal, and it’s Deacon. So, I think about h
