Am I supposed to hate Alex now? Am I supposed to feel sorry for him? Or am I supposed to feel sorry for myself?
Numb and mentally exhausted, I just want to crawl into bed and go to sleep. I want to hide from my problems, from this confusion eating at me. I want to hide from the world.
I wish Alex hadn’t told me the truth, whatever little he did tell me. Because now I feel worse.
I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the ceiling when the kitchen door opens and Patrick pokes his head in. “Can I talk to you?”
I shrug.
He enters the kitchen and closes the door behind him. Leaning against it, his hands folded behind his back, he studies me. “Are you alright?”
I open my mouth to say yes, but instead of words, a strangled sob escapes, and I lower my head into my hands.
Patrick crouche
