Hoping to go home on Thursday. We’ll let you know... She didn’t go home on Thursday, needless to say.
So of course I tensed up when he touched me. To be with him was to hurt him— inevitably.
And that’s what I’d felt as he reached for me: I’d felt as though I were committing an act of violence against him, because I was.
I decided to text him. I wanted to avoid a whole conversation about it.
Hi, so okay, I don’t know if you’ll understand this but I can’t kiss you or anything.
Not that you’d necessarily want to, but I can’t. When I try to look at you like that, all I see is what I’m going to put you through.
Maybe that doesn’t make sense to you. Anyway, sorry. He responded a few minutes later. Okay.
I wrote back. Okay. He responded: Oh, my God, stop flirting with me! I just said: Okay.
My phone buzzed moments later. I was kidding, Hazel Grace. I understand.
(But we both know that okay is a very flirty word. Okay is BURSTING with sensuality.)
I was very tempted to respond Okay again, but I pictured him at my funeral, and that helped me text properly. Sorry.
I tried to go to sleep with my headphones still on, but then after a while my mom and dad came in,
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