She’s fucking with my head. She’s… killing me. I get up, figuring out what I want to say but not knowing how to explain it—she’s hurt me. She’s making me feel shit I can’t control, and I don’t like it. I hate myself for not being able to just tell her how I feel and why we should be together. Rather than running away, like I want to, I lift my hands to sign, but she obliterates every ounce of my confidence by turning around.
