He settles his gaze on me.
“I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore.”
I wanna shut him up,
grab his jaw,
snap the words before they finish.
But I don’t. I let him talk,
and his words punch me with every syllable.
His shoulders roll back, nostrils flaring.
“Bein’ broken doesn’t give you permission to break other people. And it sure as fuck don’t give you permission to judge others for how they deal with their shit, or how they choose to break, too. You of all people should understand that."
Silence falls between us.
His eyes sweep over me,
and he shakes his head.
“Not all of us got it where we can hide behind a fuckin’ contract.
“Some of us gotta live with our monsters.”
32 /NOVEMBER RAIN
GUNS N’ ROSES
// NOV 28, 12:14 PM - THANKSGIVING - UNION CITY, NJ //
I’ve done some dumb shit before.
Plenty of it.
But pulling up to mymaybe-ex-almost-something’sfamily’s Thanksgiving like I'm still invited? That's a new kind of insane.
I'm only here because I'm settling a bet I lost.
I could've just Venmo’d him a hundred bucks and called it a day.
Whatever.
If it blows up in my face, who cares?
He can’t hurt someone who doesn’t give a shit.
And right now? I don’t give a shit.
I'm over it. None of it really touched me.
Vice. The girls. Andrew. All of it.
None of it hurt me. Or cut me open.
And I’m here to prove it,
