“Why not?” “They’re bad for you.” He crossed his arms, leaning his head back against the wall. “You just had one.” “I don’t matter.” His tone was convincing, matter of fact, like he believed that. I was punched with empathy, because I’d said the same thing about myself so many times when consumed by the things that held me back. But he did matter. He’d mattered so many times in the span of a few hours it should have been impossible for him to think that.
