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“Don’t be mad.” “No.” He shakes his head and slips on his shirt. “I’m not mad. I just wondered when we’d get here.” “Here?” I follow him to the front door where he puts on his boots. “When one of us doesn’t want sex. I’m not complaining. We’ve had a good run.”
“Can’t tonight. But I don’t work tomorrow so we can do whatever you want.” He laughs. It’s an odd laugh, a little disbelieving. “What do you mean you can’t?” “I’m going out with Erica tonight. I think I need some girl time to just get out of my head for a few hours. You know what I mean?” “Are you fucking kidding me?” I frown at my phone and the agitated voice speaking from it. “Wow, nice attitude. What crawled up your butt and died today?” Silence fills the bathroom, I glance down to see if we’ve been disconnected. “Griff?” He clears his throat. “Have fun with Erica. Don’t worry about
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“I’m sorry! I love you!” I continue to bang on the door. A few dogs bark in the distance as I wake up the neighborhood in my desperation. “Please let me in! I don’t want us to be over!” Sobs rip from my throat. This hurts. Nothing has ever hurt this bad. Not even when my father died.
What the frick
Daisy laughed like laughing was her hobby.
“Shit…” he shakes his head “…you sound so fucking insecure right now.”
Insecurities suck. But they make you fight to keep the important things in life. They’re a solemn reminder that emotions are not a choice; they’re a toxic mix of chemicals running amuck in our bodies, playing roulette with our relationships.
