“No, you don’t. You’re refusing to communicate. Here I am wanting to talk about what the hell is going on between us, and there you are, trying to run away.” “There’s nothing—” “Don’t you fucking say there’s nothing going on between us!” I’m shouting again and I hate it. I get worked up easily and I’m really on edge right now. I thrive on control, and right now, all I’m doing is losing all semblance of it. This girl owns me—for some fucking reason—and I refuse to let her make the wrong decision for both of us.
