This isn’t who I am. Not at all. I should know better by now. I don’t know what’s going on in my life, but I’m afraid. I sit up and find my shirt, pulling it on and brushing my hair as if I were preparing for a day in court. I pull my knees into my chest and look up at the ceiling. Maybe there is some truth to this after all. The pain in my chest is lessened with a thought: I am a bad person. That’s the crux of this problem. Sure, it’s in the back of my mind now, but that doesn’t mean I won’t think about it from now on. And I don’t deserve to have a boyfriend. Not anymore. My phone chirps with another text. With a sigh, I pull myself up off the floor, sit at my computer, and open my emails. “I don’t know what’s happening with us, but I am absolutely terrified. I think I might need to be alone for a bit.” “Aww man. I’m so sorry. Maybe it’s for the best.” “I know. I just wish I could see you.” “I do too.” He pulls me in to him, kissing me all over my face as we hold each other in our living room. “You have to get back to work. What would I do if I lost you? God, it hurts too much.” “I know,” I reply. “Me too.” I give him a last kiss, and head into the bathroom to get ready for the day. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and pull myself into the bathroom mirror. I am not a bad person. I look at my beautiful reflection. I am a person with some baggage and some flaws, sure, but not that bad. Even the dark