worked up and wrecked.
“I fuckin’ knew it. I knew this was gonna happen.”
He grips his hair and turns,
wanting out of this night.
“I fucked this up. I did that to you, didn’t I?
“Jesus. You were in there cryin',
“and I was out here?—”
I slide into my jacket. “Said I wasn’t crying.
“You’re not that powerful.”
His mouth slams shut.
Then he grips his hipbone, eyes fixed on me.
“But you’re not okay.”
His voice cracks as he gestures between us?—
“We’re not okay. Are we?” Every inch of him is wound tight as he waits for a response, seconds from driving his fist into brick. “Please—tell me we’re okay, Sonny. I’ll do fuckin’ anything.”
I inhale the sound of my name on his lips,
then exhale steady.
There's no cracks in it, no quiver.
It almost makes me believe I’m okay.
And I ask him?—
“How many girls?”
He stops moving,
his unblinking gaze at a standstill.
“Sonny—”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Give me the number. Therealnumber, Drew.”
I’m not asking for his number to fix this
or because I want to stay.
I’m asking because I told him everything?—
my addiction, fears?—
stripped every ugly inch of me
