Page 101 of A Much Younger Man
His words broke something inside me.
How was I going to breathe again? How was I going to laugh, or sing, or see beauty, or listen to music again after hearing that?
Things seemed to fade all around me, and I grieved the loss of color.
“I’m sorry.”
He disconnected the call.
A huge part of me left with him, so I was right all along.
Nothing would change and everything would.
I held my phone between my palms as I went to sleep, waiting for some kind of message from Beck—one that would allow me to hope for something, even if it was only a moratorium on being called a fuckbundle—but it never came.
Things between me and Beck were over. It was the right thing to do, but then why did it hurt like this?
“Sometimes doing the right thing,”my mother’s voice said in my head,“is the hardest thing. But the pain only lasts a minute, and then you’ll see it’s for the best.”
It’s been longer than a minute, Mom.
I think this is going to hurt forever.
