He was so far from okay that he didn’t even know how his fucking body stayed alive from second to second. “I’m not okay, Ricky. I love him, and it doesn’t matter. I love him, and he doesn’t love me the same. I mean, like I’ve always loved him and always believed that we were going to be together and he’s in fucking Texas porking his high school sweetheart and having everyone clap him on the back. He laid right here, Ricky, and let me believe…” He shook his head and stood up, slamming a chair across the room, the sound of wood cracking satisfying as fuck. “What’s wrong with me?”
Much love, y'all.