“I just don’t know why it’s you . . . you’re always there. Burrowed in my brain. I’m constantly searching for hints of you. It’s so fucked up because I know you can’t stand me—” “What?” His eyes narrow on me. That word whips between us to interrupt my blabbering. “I know you hate me.” With a hasty swallow, I wonder if he can feel me quaking. Does he judge me for being such a disaster? Surely, he does. “So, I’m sorry to barge in like this. I bet I’m the last person on earth you want to see right now . . . I just . . . I didn’t know where else to go and not feel like I’m losing my mind about
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