The moment I’d walked through the door after leaving Sean, Hannah had been waiting in our common room with a carton of ice cream, a box of Kleenex, and two bottles of red wine, and she’d proceeded to stay up half the night passing me tissues and listening to me babble incoherently.īreakups suck. Nope, what she did was step up to the plate and knock the best-friend-ever role out of the park. She hadn’t done much lecturing last night, though. Luckily, I can totally do that because my roommate Hannah is away this weekend, which means she won’t be around to lecture me about the emotional perils of wallowing in my misery. Usually I take the time to admire the scenery-the gorgeous old buildings, the wrought-iron benches and massive shade trees-but tonight I just want to sprint back to my dorm, pull the covers over my head, and shut out the world. Sighing, I hurry down the steps toward the cobblestone path that winds through campus. It’s even harder when that person refuses to let you go. It’s hard to let go of someone who’s been such a big part of your life for so long. I can’t keep doing this to myself, this twisted cycle of joy and heartache, especially when the person I’m supposed to be building a future with is determined to hold me back.Įven so, my heart hurts. This is our fourth breakup in three years. When I told him I was done before I stormed out of his frat house, I’d meant it. What does he want to talk about? We said everything we needed to say last night. I glance at my phone again, my wariness climbing like the ivy on the building behind me. That gorgeous grin, all crooked and dimpled and full of promises.

He sucked me in with his preppy good looks and little-boy grin. I really thought I was stronger than that, but Sean McCall has had a hold on me since freshman year at Briar University. I never wanted to be one of those girls who breaks up and makes up with the same guy over and over again. Stellar boyfriend doesn’t quite make his list of strengths either, at least not in recent days.

Like baseball-seriously, the guy can pull stats out of his ass, even ones dating back to the sixties. And I doubt autocorrect is to blame because Sean isn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box. And although the emotional progression from pleading to pissed off doesn’t go unnoticed, I find myself fixating on his grammatical error. They’re all from Sean, my as-of-last-night ex. There are six text messages waiting for me when I check my phone on the way out of the campus fitness center on Friday night.

U didn’t mean it when u said we were done, right? After everything we’ve been thru, I deserve more then that.

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