I hate that I thought it.
I hate that it’s true and not true and all tangled up in the same night that changed everything.
I hate that I feel dirty when I know I chose it.
I hate that I feel chosen when I know I was bought.
I hate that my body still remembers him like it was something good, something safe, something I wanted, even though it shouldn’t have been any of those things.
The shame sits on top of the fear like a second weight, pressing me down until my knees give out.
I don’t do it gracefully.
I just crumple.
One second, I’m standing in the living room, staring at the couch, and the next I’m on the floor, hands covering my face.
The sob that comes out of me is ugly.
Loud.
It punches up from my chest like it’s been waiting all day for the moment I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
I try to swallow it down.
I can’t.
I cry so hard my ribs hurt.
My shoulders shake.
My throat burns.
My breath keeps catching, refusing to steady.
I press my forehead to my knees and rock a little without meaning to, like I’m a kid again and the only thing I know how to do is curl in on myself and wait for someone to fix it.
But there is no one here to fix it.
Dad is in a hospital bed, unconscious, full of tubes and lines.
Maddy is in Montana.
And Nico—
Nico is… Nico. Somewhere in a world I don’t know how to be in without ruining myself.
The thought of him makes my cry hitch, sharp and broken.
Because I don’t want him.
I don’t need him.
I don’t—
I don’t know what I’m saying to myself anymore.
I just know that the empty house is too big, and the silence is too loud, and the fear is crawling under my skin like a living thing.
