The second the door swings shut behind me, the cold night air slams into my lungs like a cleanse. I let it fill me as I walk a few steps away from the door and sink down beside the wall, sitting on the edge of the concrete step with my back pressed against the rough brick. It’s quiet out here. The kind of quiet that hums in your bones. No music. No laughter. Just the sound of distant engines and the hum of the city in the background.
I stare out across the lot, my mind running laps I can’t seem to slow. This whole week of silence is already pushing at the edge of something inside me. I want to see her, touch her, hear her voice every day, all f*****g day. And I know I can’t. Not if I want to make this official. Not if I want to prove to every bastard inside that she’s not just something I
