I had broken him; this bright, beautiful, brave soul had been reduced to broken pieces. They were scattered all over his bedroom floor. He couldn’t take me back, not even if he wanted to. Because his pride would never allow for it. I wanted to clean up my image and not be a humiliation to him every damn day, but I was still me. I couldn’t erase my past. I was used up and dirty. I always had been. There was no way of fixing that. There was no magic spell to eradicate my memories.
