I broke. Not in a cinematic way with glass shattering or mascara running artistically down my cheeks. I broke like a dam with a hairline fracture in the center of my chest. The moment Jack said “I need space,” the words lodged in my throat and broke off into jagged glass. Then I found myself in Jynelle’s arms like a deflated bag of bones, leaking tears and rage, while she stroked my hair and said the most honest thing anyone’s ever said to me in this entire testosterone-infested circus of a love triangle.
“You’re not the problem,” she said, her voice deadpan but oddly soothing. “You’re just stuck between two giant men with the emotional intelligence of a toaster.”
I wanted to laugh. I did laugh. Then I hiccuped. Then I wanted to kill something. Preferably Ezra.
Because that traitorous,
