“Okay. I’ll change.” Something in my chest lets go, some of the pressure loosening enough to breathe. Jeremy relaxes, his shoulders dropping and his hands leaving me. I both love it and hate it. Fighting is easy, it’s comfortable. Whatever this is, sucks. The urge to push him and piss him off is strong, but I don’t. Instead, I release him and step back. “Good,” I try to slide that fucking mask back on but I’m struggling. Like it’s cracked or I’ve outgrown it. It doesn’t feel right but I don’t know how to survive without it.
