25
AUDREY
Six letters. Boyd wrote me six letters.
They were all in my trash. Who was I fooling? I hadn’t taken out the garbage all week. If I was really done with Boyd, wouldn't I have burned them? Or never even brought them in?
I stared at the wastebasket.
Don’t do it.
Do not do it.
My phone rang. Shoot. It was Marina. I’d been dodging her calls all week because I knew if we talked, I’d spill everything. I sent this call to voicemail as well. She was used to my work schedule and sometimes a lapse in responses, but I’d text her, let her know not to worry.
Because if I talked to her now, I’d bawl my eyes out. Other than the day we broke up, when I lost it out front, I’d been trying to hold that mess in. I’d done a good job of it, but I was like a pressure cooker, ready to explode.
