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by Jennifer Hartmann

I guess that was why I loved too much. I had a lot of loveless holes to fill.

I was never able to earn my father’s affection, no matter how desperate I was, how needy and fraught.

I couldn’t put my fractured family back together.

Father was right… I wasn’t good at doing hard things.

“Life is living. If you’re not living exactly the way you want to live, then what’s the fucking point?”

Everything was hollow. Everything except for my heart. And having an abundant heart in a hollow world was an affliction I was helpless to overcome.

“Relationships are overrated. Love is nothing but a building block for collapse. A stepping stone for tripping and stumbling into a black hole you can’t climb out of it.”

But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”

“Pearl Jam is good. This one’s kind of depressing.”

“You say depressing, I say expressive. It makes you feel…right here.” I pressed a curled fist to the space between my ribs where my heart pounded with mournful beats.

“Hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Listen.”

A song filtered into my ears. Oasis.

“Wonderwall,”

SPAINNNNNNNN

“You like this one?” he wondered.

“Yes. It’s my favorite.”

the girl in the Copperglow Berry lipstick with cartoon hearts in her eyes, lies on her tongue, and Wonderwall flowing through her veins.

“Confidence is like a muscle,” I told him. “It needs consistent exercise. The more you practice, the stronger it becomes. It’s not about eliminating self-doubt entirely—it’s about pushing through it.”

“Progress is a journey, not a destination.”

your ‘I-don’t-give-a-shit’ attitude.” “I do give a shit. I give an infinite amount of shits.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t made pierogies yet.”

“You remember that?” “Sure. The mother of your still-Polish, not-deceased mother would make them every Christmas Eve.”

He reached for me, cautiously extending both arms, his gaze gleaming with torture and remorse. “Fuck. Come here, Comet.”

big palm stroked the length of my spine, up and down, slow and tender. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I swear you’re safe.”

In my world, the real heroes were the people I encountered every day—the survivors. The ones battling and overcoming the worst that life had thrown at them.

“Listen to me. When something breaks you, you pick up the pieces and put yourself back together. Maybe it’s with stitches and glue sticks, but it’s enough to keep going. Nobody needs to stay broken.”

“C’mon, Mom, I’m almost eighteen. What’s the worst that could happen?” “Do you want me to make a list?”

“The next moment always sounds better than the one I’m in.” Again, I couldn’t relate. When you’re always fearing the next moment, you tend to appreciate the good ones while you have them.

You’ve already accomplished the hardest thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You got back up.”

Fear is a disease. It’s paralyzing. The only antidote is believing in your resilience. Every challenge is a chance to prove your strength.”

the sexual attraction continued to bloom, so did this maddening nurturing feeling, like I’d be willing to move mountains for her, that I’d be content just holding her and washing away her pain until she found perfect solace in my arms.

“Tell me your plans for us that night.”

“I would have taken you back to my apartment,” I said darkly, teeth gritted, my fist still tangled in her hair. “And we wouldn’t have made it to the bedroom before I knew what your pussy tasted like.”

“This is actually pretty fun.”

“Of course it is. It’s one-thousand percent fun. If fun had a specific definition, it would be this.”

“Actually, it would be the satisfaction of peeling off the plastic on a n...

“I have no argument for that.”

“No, you didn’t. Nobody has the right to ever put their hands on you without your permission. Got it?”

As we sat there, Reed lifted his hand from his lap and carried it over to mine. He took it inside his big, calloused palm, then intertwined our fingers together, squeezing gently, and I swore, I knew—this was the moment I fell in love with him.

didn’t get to dance.” I almost laughed. But I was too sad to laugh. He frowned in confusion, studying me. “What do you mean?” I shrugged, forcing a small smile. “Prom,” I told him. “We didn’t dance.”

before pulling out a cassette tape.

He slipped it into the tape deck, fiddling with some buttons, and turned the volume all the way up on the dial. “Come on,”

It was a cover of Save the Last Dance for Me.

“There’s a really good cover of that song by Harry Nilsson,” he’d said to me.

“Dance with me.”

Reed rested his cheek on the top of my head as his hand stroked up and down my back, leaving warm shivers behind. “You like this song?” he murmured into my hair.

I nuzzled my face to his chest, wrapped my arms around him, and whispered back, “It’s my favorite.”