8
Lena.
I didn’t see him for the rest of the day.
He stayed in his room or left the house altogether. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. I told myself I didn’t care.
I cleaned up the mug and swept the shards off the floor and threw the pieces away. My hands shook the whole time.
I sat on the couch for hours after, trying to write, to distract myself, but my thoughts kept circling the same damn drain.
He wanted me. Then he didn’t. Then he did. Then he disappeared again.
And I… I was somewhere between furious and aching.
The worst part was I missed him, missed his voice, missed the way his body had felt on mine. In mine.
I hated that I missed him.
By the time the sky turned pink and then darkened to navy, I was curled up on the couch with a blanket and a headache, wondering if I
