Jena
It has been a week since I woke up to John greeting me, using the nickname he had for me when we were younger. I know he never meant for it to send me into a complete breakdown and I wish he never had to see me like that, but nothing would've been able to stop that memory from sending me over the edge I have been trying to stay away from for years now. Things have been strained since then, but John hasn't asked what happened, or why I broke down. He only held me that day and every night since then. We don't talk much, not about anything serious. He asks me how my day was and I ask him the same. We talk about the people we had to deal with, joke around about things that happened throughout the day, but we don't talk about what happened. Every now and then I find him staring at me, gui
