Infatuation

I knew more about her for never having spoken to her. We didn't need to. Because the way she looked at me sometimes, that said it all. She wanted me. She didn't mind that I'd stop by her apartment late, or that I'd watch her sleep, buried under her gray blanket, while the stars strung around her room blinked on and off to the rhythm of her breathing.

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32. Avery

I didn't want to die.

So I fought. I fought until breathing was difficult. I fought until my chest hurt. I fought until a tired feeling overcame my body.

Then I shut my eyes.


 

**



I was dead. At least, that's what I thought when I opened my eyes. But I wasn't. I was still alive, and in a terrible amount of pain.

I gagged, struggling to sit up.

"I couldn't do it," a voice said softly.

Adam sat on the floor of my apartment, far away from me, his hands around his head. He was shaking, but he had stopped talking to himself.

He looked at me—really looked at me, his eyes full of anguish. Then he spoke, his voice cracked.

"Can you forgive me?"

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