“God, have mercy—” “Did you ever think of leaving?” he asked. I sighed. “No.” “And did you ever think of me?” The coin lay forgotten. Catastrophe waited between us, something that ought not be touched or turned over. The grass whispered, my chest ached, and Patrick’s eyes were more all-encompassing than the redolent sky. I bit my bottom lip, and his eyes traced the movement.
EVERY. DAY.
