“I don’t want to be in love with you anymore,” I whimper and fall into his chest. He starts for a second in surprise, but quickly folds his arms around me, holding my shaking form as the tears fall before I can stop them. I start to shake violently, as much for the pain of loving him as for the pain of admitting I don’t want to anymore. Giancarlo might say mean things. He might yell or shout or throw the occasional dish. But nothing hurts more than this man’s love. Or, I should say, nothing hurts more than loving him.
