We never got to the restaurant as Paul had planned because the moment I slid myself in the car, I cried hard. I was too ashamed of myself that I covered my face with both my hands, and I sobbed as if my cat had died.
Paul didn’t need to tell me he was mad because the beautiful roses, the first bouquet I received in my life, had withered and died. He started the car without talking to me, and he was driving like a maniac, but I was too busy crying to get frightened of him.
I could feel the pain in my skin as if the sun-tattoo became real, scorching heat in between my neck and shoulder. Yet, I asked myself which was painful, losing Jeremy or the burning skin in my body, my heart would answer point to losing him.
When he stopped the car, he got out of the car, leaving me inside. He leane
