It took every single litte piece of effort left in my tired teenage body to not grin ruefully back and to not press myself into him when he gently kissed me. The hardest thing to do was not what I had to say, but living with the consequences and not hating myself.
He looked worried as soon as the words left my mouth. I knew this had to happen quickly, as little pain as possible- like ripping off a bandaid.
“We’re over, ” I stated simply. Still trying my best to sound nonchalance and almost careless.
His expression didn’t falter as mine did and he didn’t cry or get angry. No, it was much worse. He didn’t say anything. He was silent as a stone statue. He leaned in towards me and I knew what he was going to do. I was hoping he wouldn’t though.
Just as he was millimeters from kissing me, he whispered those three words. And I broke. I closed that tiny distance and kissed him. My effort was now putting all my love for him into that kiss. Impossible, but I tried.
He left and we were nowhere near over.