“So why is this different?” I continued gently. I was stroking her hand with my thumb, trying to stop her from cracking, but I knew she was on the verge of tears. She seemed to be getting almost too upset about this. Either she was an emotional wreck – which didn’t seem that likely – or there was something she wasn’t telling me.
“It shouldn’t be different. But it is,” she whispered, “I don’t know why.”
At that moment I so wanted to bring her to me and kiss those soft lips. I wanted to hold her and tell her it would all be OK. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I had to be a bastard, I had to tell her it was over – that it could never really begin in fact. I knew I had to – but I also knew I would hate myself for hurting her. It was killing me to see her just sitting there looking so…so sad.
