making it go tight.
I don't have another second to think
before it breaks out of me?—
“I haven’t liked anyone since I was sixteen.”
The silence falls loud between us.
That's when I realize the music had stopped.
His phone went quiet, neither of us noticed,
and I hate how soft my confession sounds as it stands alone.
But there it is,
in the air,
too late to take back.
And there’s Andrew, staring, absorbing it.
“I was scared, so he made all these promises to reassure me. Then after we fucked, he bounced, and that was that. And I know some girls go through hell of a lot worse—I do. But it still broke me.”
Emotion is clawing its way up,
hard-headed as hell.
But so am I, stopping it before it spills.
“So, yeah,” I force a smile. “I cried.
“And then my dad died three weeks later.
“And I cried harder.”
“Then at some point I stopped cryin’.
“Stopped everything.”
Andrew’s not moving,
making it easy to avoid his gaze
and look past him,
past the rooftop,
past the skyline,
past the whole fuckin’ city.
“By sixteen, Mom’s dead.
“Dad’s dead.
“And I was fucked in all ways.
