“Are you still mad at me?”
For the first time, we lay in bed together. Michael had his hands wrapped around my waist, and I had my hands underneath my head on the pillow. We had settled in pretty early. Today was heavy, and after ordering some food, and making some tea, we decided to call it a night.
It wasn’t awkward, but the atmosphere still felt tense.
Michael asked if I was still mad at him, and I didn’t know how to reply. It wasn’t that I was mad at him, more so that I was just taking in everything – processing it.
“I’m not,” I sigh, staring at the lamp that illuminated my face, “I guess I’m still reeling it all in.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t be the person you want . . . the person you need.”
“ ... Michael –,”
“But I assure you that my goal now is to make you happy in any way th
