The line goes straight to voicemail. “Hardin…” The words leave my lips at a frantic rate. “Hardin… it’s Tessa. I… well, I need to talk to you. I’m in my car and I’m so confused…” I begin to cry. “Why haven’t you even tried to contact me? You just let me leave, and here I am pathetically calling you and crying into your voicemail. I need to know what happened to us. Why was this time different—why didn’t we fight it out? Why didn’t you fight for me? I deserve to be happy, Hardin,” I sob and hang the phone up.
I hate you
