I could barely taste the food as I forked clumps of enchilada into my mouth. I was hungry, but my appetite had left me completely. I was eating just to have something to do with my hands.

My heart raced, and weird sensations fluttered through my stomach. My throat was threatening to tighten up on me, and salty tears added flavoring to my food.

I would have never guessed in a million years I’d be the cliche girl in every romance novel who gets her heart broken: “breaking up with your first love” scenario and everything.

“He’s a player!”
“Why are you still with him!?”
“You’re pathetic.”
“You’re a fool!”
“He’s an asshole!”
“If he loved you, he wouldn’t be going out with some other girl!”
“All men are jerks.”
“They all think with one thing, and it ain’t their brains!”

But I loved him, and somehow I became defensive. He’s a good guy, he would never do that to me. He’s not technically cheating. He loves me…we’re soul mates. I’m supposed to be priority. He’s not a jerk.

I’ve never been so confused.

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