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He says maybe my life was a little wrecked, but it’s not ruined.
“Because you were traumatized.” “It doesn’t make any sense. I was fine. Why can’t I just be fine?” His voice is strained, the tendons in his neck pulled tight. “I don’t know. But it’s okay not to be okay, you know? It doesn’t make you weak to admit that.”
I’d rather die than hurt him, and I think we’ve established that I’m afraid to die.

