“Baby, it’s okay to cry when you get hurt—” I shake my head. “I c-can’t do this, Wes. I can’t be the person you n-need. Look at me.” I hold my palms out to emphasize my point. “I’m a fucking mess. I’m constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown and this whole week I was guilty because I didn’t have time for you. It’s only been a week and I’m already f-failing.” The ache in my chest threatens to push me back into an incoherent, sobbing mess again. “W-we should just e-end things.”
