I’m so fucking angry! But not at Lyra. I’m pissed at myself for caring. For giving a shit about what she thinks of me. Why should it matter? Damned if I know. Until, I look down and see her hands fisted in my shirt and feel her tears branded upon my skin. And now I have my answer. She . . Makes . .Me . .Feel. Something, I haven’t been able to do for quite sometime now. In a matter of months, this woman has melted away my fortitude and the wall of ice I’ve twisted around my heart–the one that compelled me to be a cold, heartless bastard. I just pray she doesn’t leave me drowning in the aftermath. Because I will never live through that kind of pain. Ever again . . .
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