It’s all one giant soul-crushing combination that causes me to bark out, “Fuck!”
“She seems swell,” Kara mocks while reaching for her top.
“Do you fucking blame her?” I spin around. “And what the fuck were you thinking saying that?”
“I thought it would lighten the mood.”
“Did you?” There’s no stopping my eyes from narrowing into a glare. “Or did you hope you could fuck up my world just enough for me to dive back down into fucking depression with you?”
Her jaw struggles not to tremble.
“Get dressed.” Unsurpassed rage rips through my system, imploring me to just stop by the nearest gas station for a pack of smokes to dial down. “I’m fucking taking you home. And for your sake you better hope the damage you’ve done to my relationship isn’t fucking permanent, or you’ll have one less person in your life who actually gives a fuck about you.”
At the end of the sentence, I storm off for my bedroom in no mood to spend the day under the hood of cars or wondering if it’s possible to rebuild the trust I’ve spent months cultivating.
What if I can’t?
What if nothing I say or do can fix this?
What happens if this really is the fucking end this time?
I barely survived losing her once.
I honestly don’t think I can twice.