Page 441 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Inhale. Exhale. Stay alive. Basic shit.

But one rejection,

and it all goes out the window.

Is this how it felt for him every time?

He’s looking down at his hands.

“All this is crashin’ down on me,

“makin’ me face my own shit⁠—”

“Like what?” I ask fast, trying to put more distance between us, digging my spine into the backrest of the couch, as if that’ll make all this hurt less.

Andrew’s head tips back on the cushion.

His hand comes over his face,

and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus,” he says, voice shaking before it snaps in half. “Allison, it’s hittin’ me at once. It’s fuckin’ me up. I’m—I’m so over it.”

In an instant,

all the hurt I feel cuts even deeper,

but for him.

My heart kneels to his pain,

begs for mercy.

I don’t know what he’s referring to,

and either way,

I don’t think it even matters.

Whether he’s talking about us,

about me,

about everything that surrounds us,

it all spears the same⁠—

blade sharp, scary, and unsparing.

The old me would’ve run, put up walls,

but the girl lying on his couch tonight

is locking her arms around his chest

and pressing her face

into the side of his neck.