Her old life, her old self, seem like tangible objects she should be able to reach out and touch. That self, the old Allie, would not be having this conversation. Wouldn’t be here, in this room, in this bed, having regrets about unprotected sex and wondering when was the last time these sheets were washed. Her old self would be disgusted and frightened and revolted, and crazy in love with Ethan all at the same time. She can’t feel any of these things. It’s like they’re behind glass in a museum. What she does feel is something different. Recklessness. Anger. Resentment. And a loss so
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