Lia
I pace by the back door and it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m here, but not really? I don’t know. It’s weird. One minute I’m standing still, the next I’m unraveling again. The cold seeps in through the glass, but I barely feel it. My fingers won’t stop trembling, my mind won’t stop racing.
What am I doing? I’m an i***t. Ugh.
I should’ve said no. I meant to say no. But the second I saw his name light up my phone, my heart turned to mush and the words typed themselves.
You’re so damn weak. Naive.
I wrap my arms around myself, some form of self-comfort, and peek through the curtain. The porch looks the same as it did ten minutes ago. Empty swing. Flickering citronella candles—more for the glow than the warmth. Their soft golden halos pool over the worn wood slats
