Like the creeper I was, I sank down on the foot of my bed, reached for his jacket, and held it to my chest. His smell was everywhere. On his jacket. On me. Holding the drenched fabric, I inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of his deodorant and then mentally chastised myself for being such a freak. What was I doing? Why was I allowing myself to feel these emotions? They were dangerous. I had to stop. He doesn’t want you. No one does.
