Forgetting To Forget - 1. Chapter 1

I wish you could have loved me… enough.

He wasn’t the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen, not at first at least. He wasn’t ugly, not by a long shot…just, not the best looking guy I’d ever seen, but after a only few weeks—a few stolen kisses, soft touches under tables when no one was looking, and smiles that made me forget what it was like to breathe—he didn’t have to be the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen…because I couldn’t see anyone else anymore.

His name was Caleb. He was the kind of guy that could laugh in your face, push you around and call your mother a whore, and you’d still want to get closer to him because right after he called your mother a whore, he’d do something completely amazing to make you forget all about it. Not to make up for insulting her in the first place—he was completely unapologetic—just because he could. Just because he wanted to.

He intrigued me when I first saw him. He ran into my foster brother in the halls between classes, knocking him clear on his ass and didn’t stop to apologize. He didn’t even look back; it was almost like he hadn’t noticed it’d happened in the first place. I must have spent an entire day just trying to get a good look at him. He was always moving. Nothing ever held his interest for long. Nothing except me.

When he first kissed me, it made my entire body shake. Literally. I was trying so hard to hold still, desperate to have it last as long as possible, terrified he’d pull away if I made the smallest of movements. And he did pull away. Long enough to look me in the eye, his gaze so intense, I felt like I was suffocating under it. It crushed me and when he kissed me again, I melted into it, weak. Completely unable to hold myself up, but I didn’t need to. He did it for me. After that first kiss, he continued to do it whenever he could get me alone and he even leaned in a couple times when we weren’t alone, like he really didn’t give a fuck who saw. I always stopped him. It was hard, but I did. He’d just smile and drag me off to kiss me somewhere else.

I got lost in it. Lost in him. I felt like I’d never be close enough to him. I wanted to crawl inside of him, wrap myself up in him as tight as possible. I got drunk just thinking about him. His scent made me dizzy.

He had the softest hands. I knew because he spent so much of his time touching me. I never even had to ask for it, I just had to look at him, for a second longer than was necessary and he’d find a way to touch me. It didn’t matter if others were around, he found a way, and even though I wanted it. Even though I knew he was probably only doing it because I wanted it…he always made me feel like he was doing it because he couldn’t help himself.

I loved him. It was impossible not to. He made me love him, with the looks that were just mine and the needy groans between kisses. The way his eyes would darken when I touched him and he’d look at me like he couldn’t wait to get me alone. And the way that, when he did get me alone, he was…sweet. Sweeter than anyone else outside of my room ever would have guessed. He touched me like he’d never get enough of it, squeezed me like he was afraid I’d disappear, whispered nonsense through short desperate gasps in my ear like he was going crazy and I was driving him there.

He let me see him. The parts that no one else got to see.

He was always laughing. Not the normal sort of laugh, either. It was secretive. Like he’d just heard the funniest joke you’d ever hear…but he wasn’t telling. He’d just start laughing suddenly, his eyes almost closing as he did and it was almost like he just…disappeared for awhile. And when he came back and people asked what was so funny, he’d just smirk and shake his head, before walking away.

I knew, though. He let me in on the secret joke one day out by the senior parking lot after school, by the drink machines that he always pulled me behind to sneak a quick kiss. And the secret wasn’t as funny as you might think. It wasn’t funny at all.

He started laughing, louder and harder than I’d ever heard him laugh before, but he didn’t shake it off like he normally did. He kept laughing until his chest started heaving and his breath was coming in short, uncontrolled gasps and his eyelashes were wet. I’d done that before—laughed so hard my eyes watered— and I smiled at him, looking around, trying my best to figure out what he was laughing at.

When I looked back at him, though. His eyes weren’t watering at all. They were tears. Actual tears that slid down his cheeks leaving cruel marks on the soft skin that I spent a good deal of my time kissing…touching, stroking. I hated those tears and then…I hated his laughs.

He was beautiful when he cried, though, his whole body shaking, his eyes sparkling wet, his hair a mess from all the times he’d run his hand through it, biting his lips until they swelled as he tried to stop…it was just…beautiful in a way.

But I would have done anything to never have to see it again.

I would have done anything for him, period. He never asked me for anything—I’m not sure he knew how—but the fact that he wouldn’t ask is probably part of why I felt the way I did about him. I would have given him anything…everything I had to give without a thought. Because I fucking loved him.

He just… didn’t love me. He couldn’t have. You don’t leave the people you love.

I wish I knew how to hate you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Caleb was an ass to me all the time. We fought just as much as any two people that spent all of their time together. He wasn’t an angel. He could be the biggest pain in the ass when he wanted to be. There were times he pissed me off so much that I wanted to rip my fucking hair out…or his.

But I don’t remember those times anymore. I only remember the kisses that followed. Every last one of them.

Caleb also used to lie to me all the time. He’d lie right to my face, looking straight into my eyes even if we both knew the truth. He used to make me so fucking angry because I felt like he was taking advantage of how I felt about him. He knew I wanted to believe him. He knew he could get away with it. And it hurt. But…I can’t really remember that, either.

I wish I did. I wish I could remember all of the bad and all of the hurt. I wish I could remember it because then…I might be able to hate him. Maybe.

But all I remember are his smiles. The brightness in his eyes whenever he saw me coming. The way that I felt warm from the inside out when he put his arms around me and held me tight.

I wish I didn’t. I wish I could forget the way he tasted. The way he smelled. The light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the fact that I loved all of it. I wish I could forget it all.

The clearest of my memories—the last one—is the one I wish I could get rid of most. But I can’t. I remember everything. Every last detail is crystal clear in my memory and the whole thing runs through my mind over and over. If I close my eyes long enough, I can almost see it happening. If it’s quiet for too long, I can almost hear his voice.

It’s cruel. It hurts to think about and it’s all I can think about.

No, he’s cruel. For giving me everything I thought I wanted—honesty. Love. Him. He gave me all of it, that last night, and now I just want to give it back. I don’t want it because maybe if I could believe Caleb was a heartless bastard that never gave a shit about me, it might not hurt so much.

I barely heard him come in. He was so quiet. He moved so slowly I wasn’t sure he was even real until I felt my bed dip beneath his weight. He didn’t say much. Just my name.

“Tristan…” It was a whisper, soft and sad, and it occurred to me that I’d never actually heard Caleb sound ‘sad’ before. Even when he cried, he always sounded angry, more than anything else. Never sad and when I heard it in his voice…I was almost grateful. You wouldn’t think so but it made him seem…less broken. And he came to me with it.

“Tristan,” he whispered again, reaching out to run his fingers along the side of my face, but it didn’t really sound like he wanted me to answer. So, I didn’t. I lied still in my bed and waited for him to say something else.

He never did. He pulled back the covers and climbed in next to me, pulling me in close and he kissed me. It was nothing like any of the kisses we’d had before and something was wrong, so wrong, but I didn’t want it to stop. It was honest. More honest than Caleb had ever been and he was letting me see it. So, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t interrupt.

“Tristan,” he said once more, his lips still against my own. My heart pounded in my chest and I listened. I waited. I remember wishing that the lights were on, so that I could see it. See him. But I don’t think he wanted that.

He was touching me all over and…it didn’t really seem like the time for us to do anything. Not with the way his voice broke every time he spoke, but my body reacted anyway. I loved the feel of his hands on me. I loved the way it made me feel weightless and I was hard before I even thought about attempting to keep myself under control.

It…it didn’t seem like the time, but I didn’t stop him. I wanted it. There was something so different about the way he was touching me and I wanted it. Caleb always acted like he needed me. But I always knew it was just an act for my benefit.

That night, though…it was real.

His kisses were sloppy. Unrestrained. So unlike the gentle, controlled, seductive kisses I was used to getting from him, but I liked these new kisses so much more. His teeth knocked mine painfully and I even liked that. I was losing myself in it and it shocked the hell out of me when he pulled away completely, leaving me cold. Alone.

“Take it off,” he said, voice hoarse, and he didn’t specify ‘what’ I was supposed to take off but he had already gotten rid of his shirt and his hands were working at the belt of his pants, fumbling. Clumsy. Nothing like him. Not at all.

“Off,” he said shortly, when it took me too long to respond. “I think…I think I need to feel you.”

Need. I’d never really heard him say the word before. He made me feel like he needed me all the time, sure, but he never said it. Not once. I hadn’t realized that, though, until I heard him say it that night.

I moved to get rid of my shirt quicker than I would have thought I was capable of, but apparently it wasn’t quick enough for him. He crawled back into my bed, breathing heavily and he gripped the hem of my shirt tightly and yanked it up over my head. I let him, moving my hands down to my waist to work on my shorts, but he took care of those too.

“Jesus, Tristan, I…” he swallowed, trying and failing to compose himself. “I don’t know—I…fuck.”

He was desperate. So desperate and I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t our first time. It hadn’t even been that long since the last we’d had sex, but he was writhing and whimpering against me, grasping at my shoulders, my hips, my thighs. I hadn’t even known he was capable of whimpering. My heart jumped at the sound of it and finally…finally I moved. I’d been so still up until then and I really couldn’t tell you why. I just…I just didn’t want to ruin it. I felt like he was giving me something. More than I could’ve ever hoped for and I didn’t want to do anything to mess it up. I’d always thought that Caleb meant far more to me than I could ever mean to him. And I was okay with it as long as I got to keep him. But that night, for the first time ever, I thought I might be wrong.

The whimper…it was so soft I wasn’t even sure I’d really heard it until he whimpered again and then I couldn’t help but touch him. Pull him in closer, rolling him until he was back on top of me, skin sticking to mine with sweat that seemed so out of place considering how cold my room was.

I dug my fingers into his hips hard and moved my lips to his neck to suck. To bite. I wanted to mark him. In any way that I could and wherever I could. I belonged to him, I always had, but I never really felt like he belonged to me before. Not until that night.

I expected him to push my hands away. I’m not sure why, he’d been surprising me all night. In the past, whenever I did something similar—sucked too hard at his neck, scratched to viciously at his back— he’d pulled away. Always with a smile and always with a kiss, but he pulled away. He never let me have him. He always pulled away.

I couldn’t have been more shocked, even with everything else that was different about that night, when he not only didn’t pull away, but welcomed it, groaning into my mouth, pressing his hips into mine with another helpless, desperate whimper. I spread my legs for him, more out of habit than anything else, and I gasped when I felt his weight against me, his cock sliding up alongside my own. I arched my back and thrust my hips up, trying to get more. More pressure. More heat. I’d always loved having him there, on top of me.

I didn’t get to enjoy it for long. He rolled off me. Away from me and for a moment, I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. I sat up so fast I got dizzy, but he placed a hand on my chest and pushed me back down, leaning in to place a lingering kiss on my forehead. Gentle. Loving.

Caleb…he wasn’t 'loving'. He wanted me, I knew that. I knew I turned him on…but before that night, if I ever could have gotten up the balls to ask myself whether or not he loved me, I would have said no. Which is exactly why I never asked the question. I was positive the answer would be no.

But that kiss. That one kiss, on my forehead, not even on my lips…there was more in that kiss than anything else Caleb had ever offered me. It filled me up and I was warm all over. My skin vibrated and my chest…tightened. And my eyes burned as they watered.

“Caleb?” I asked quietly and it was so strange to hear my voice, but…I was confused. We weren’t doing anything that we hadn’t done before and everything was different. Perfect.

Caleb didn’t answer my question…if you could call it that. I wasn’t even sure what I was trying to ask. He just shook his head and kissed me once more, his hand resting on my collar bone.

He pulled away from me again, reaching over to pull open the drawer of my nightstand. I couldn’t see him, I could only hear the sound of him sifting through the junk in my drawer. But I didn’t need to see him. Condoms. Lube. There really wasn’t anything else in that drawer that would be of any interest to him and I wasn’t at all shocked when he pulled both items out. He dropped them onto the bed and they rolled toward me where the mattress dipped under my weight and Caleb moved back over me, knees between my legs.

He stopped me when I reached for him, shaking his head, pushing my hands back down to the bed.

“Wait, Tristan,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I need a second…”

I was hard...painfully so and I reached down to touch myself instead of him, but Caleb wouldn’t let me do that either and he grabbed hold of my hand again and pushed it back down to the mattress.

“Just wait, Tristan,” he said softly and it almost hurt but I listened, shaking on the bed beneath him, wondering what the hell he was thinking. But… I knew better than to ask. Caleb doesn’t talk about himself. Caleb walks out if you try to push him to it. He walks out…and he doesn’t come back. I knew that, and I never pushed. Not once.

It felt like forever before he finally touched me and even then, it was only to torture me. He ran his hand along my sides, over my hips, down my thighs, never once touching me where I wanted—needed—him to touch me. He leaned in, kissing my chest, softly, almost reverently before moving off to the side, flicking his tongue out to slide against my nipple. I groaned out loud and I really didn’t give a fuck if anyone in my house heard me. Fuck my parents. Fuck my sister. And fuck my younger foster brother.

“Please,” I said, gripping his biceps, leaning up to press my lips against his neck, his chin, everywhere that I could reach. “Please…”

“I love you.”

I froze. I froze because…it wasn’t me. It was always me. He never said it. ‘Me too’. ‘You too.’ ‘I know.’ He said those things, but he never said ‘love’, much less ‘I love you’ and I froze when I heard the words, wondering if it actually was me that said it and I just hadn’t realized it. But he said it again.

And again.

And when he finally entered me, he said it again, sighing as he sank all the way in until his pelvic bone was pressed hard against my perineum and I have no idea how I kept from coming right then.

“I love you, Tristan.” He said with his first thrust and my back arched off the bed. I moved my hands to his hips and then around to his ass, trying to pull him in harder, deeper, but he wouldn’t let me. He kept his slow, leisurely pace, whispering the words in my ear over and over until I really wasn’t sure I could handle it anymore. My breath was coming in short, uneven gasps, and his were even worse. Like he was trying to inhale and exhale at once because he couldn’t remember which one he was supposed to be doing.

I felt little drops of sweat fall from his face above me down onto mine…only…not sweat. Not sweat, but tears and they burned as the slid down my face to my ears.

He felt good, so good, inside me, but I couldn’t just ignore it and I stopped meeting his thrusts. I released my grip on him and lifted a hand to the back of his neck. I didn’t want to ignore it anymore, no matter how many times he told me it was it was nothing. Not to worry.

I pressed my free hand against his chest to push him back, but he wasn’t having any of that. He slipped his hands under my shoulders and gripped them, pressing into me with smallest twist of his hips, so hard and deep, I almost screamed and I choked on whatever I was going to say.

“Don’t stop,” he said, mindlessly as he finally picked up his pace and I didn’t tell him no. I never could.

I was moaning. Or he was moaning—or both. My head rolled back on my pillow and he attacked my neck, nipping and licking, but mostly just groaning against me.

They had to hear it. My entire family had to hear it, but I don’t think we’d have been able to stop if they all came barreling in at once. I don’t think we even would have noticed it.

We didn’t come together, but that rarely ever happened. He came first, pushing deep inside me, his entire body tensing as he let out a short, harsh cry that echoed throughout my room. I kept moving, thrusting up against him, my body writhing, my head thrashing from side to side. I needed it. I was close. So close and I just needed him for a little longer.

And I had him. He pushed my hand away from my cock once he came down just a little and he gripped me tight. Rough. Perfect. And he stayed inside me as he slid his hand up and down the length of my cock. Stayed until I came, thrashing wildly beneath him and stayed inside me still. Stayed until he softened and he no longer had a choice. And even then, he stayed close, pinning me to the bed with his weight.

“I love you, Tristan,” he said softly, breath ghosting heavily over my face. “I’m sorry. I love you and I’m sorry.”

It made something inside me jump to hear it. He never said it. Not once in eight months, and in one fucking night, he said it more times than anyone else in my life. But I’d never get tired of hearing it. It shook me in the best way possible.

“I love you, too,” I responded once the ability to form words returned. I was pretty sure he didn’t need me to say it back, I said it all the time, he already knew I loved him. But I wanted to say it.

I wasn’t quite sure what the apology was for. I’d just assumed that it was for not telling me sooner. For not showing me. But…it wasn’t. I know now, it wasn’t. And now, I’m sorry.

He didn’t say much else before we both dozed off. He climbed off of me after awhile, kissing me lightly on the lips, then forehead, then lips again, but he didn’t speak. Not until I’d already started to slip off to sleep.

He said it one more time. “I love you.” And then he laughed his secret, painful laugh, pulling me against him, letting me fall off to sleep with my head on his chest.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

*And so, you say you'll see me later
When you know you won't see me again.

Caleb was gone the next morning when I woke up. I reached out for him even before I opened my eyes, but he wasn’t there. My bed was cold without him.

I wasn’t upset, though. Not in the slightest. I wasn’t sure what it was that had gotten into Caleb but…I felt full inside. And warm outside. I literally couldn’t go more than a minute without smiling. He loved me. He said he did and he was telling the truth.

He loved me.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t around. It didn’t matter because all I had to do was think about him or say his name and it was more than I could handle. It was probably better that he wasn’t there.

I actually had to remind myself to breathe a few times during the day. I’m not sure why. I would just be lying there, thinking about him and I’d have to remind myself to take a breath. I guess I didn’t feel like I needed to anymore. I had him. I didn’t need anything else. And I was just so…so fucking full inside that it seemed impossible that I had any room left for air.

It was torture…in a good way. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and I had to shake myself repeatedly throughout the day. And…I couldn’t stop moving. I had too much energy to burn and I was afraid of what would happen if I sat still.

I think…I think that’s what I’m most bitter about. That I went through an entire day completely happy. Completely content, looking forward to the next time I saw him and dreading it at the same time— when he was…

Gone.

There weren’t any hints. I knew he was sad…maybe even a little broken but there was nothing…he never said anything to make me think…

Gone. And he wasn’t coming back. I didn’t even cry when they told me…I actually laughed. It was so ridiculous. Dead? It…I knew what the word meant, but I couldn’t comprehend…Caleb…

No. It wasn’t that I couldn’t comprehend it. I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t accept it because he finally said it and he meant it. I couldn’t accept that I was never going to hear it again. He said it. He was broken, fine but he said it and that had to mean things were getting better. He said it. He wouldn’t just leave me. Not by choice. Not like everyone was saying.

I refused to believe it. It was a joke. A really fucking stupid one, but still a joke. He couldn’t be gone. I couldn’t accept the fact that I’d never hear his voice again. That I’d never feel his chest rise and fall rhythmically under my head as we slept together. That he’d never touch me again. Feel his lips soft and strong at once pressing against mine. His body warm and hard as he wrapped me up in his arms. I’d never be able to talk to him again? Hear him talk back, eyes sparkling mischievously? Never?

No. I refused. It was a joke. And so I waited for the punch line.

I waited for days. I didn’t feel anything. Not even when I heard my mother whispering to my father that she was just ‘glad it wasn’t me’. And glad that I hadn’t been the one to find him. Bullshit. I refused to fall for it. Caleb wouldn’t…he wouldn’t leave me alone. And I kept waiting.

I don’t really remember much from those days. I don’t know if I ate. I couldn’t tell you whether or not I slept. I just…waited. I waited for him to come and smile at me. I waited for it to be over.

The ‘punch line’…caught me right in the gut and caught my foster brother right in the nose. He said he was sorry. He apologized to me, with the sincerest look of pity on his eyes and I hated him for it. Everything inside me hollowed out at once and it hurt. God, it hurt. I couldn’t breathe. Literally. People say that all the time and you think they’re just over exaggerating, but I really couldn’t breathe. There was…something…something twisting in my stomach and I felt sick. My chest ached and I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me and my eyes welled up before I even knew what was happening.

I lashed out at Alec. I screamed and told him I didn’t want to hear it anymore. That I’d had enough of the bullshit, and when his eyes watered and he apologized again. I punched him. My little brother, three years younger at fourteen—I punched him and I didn’t care.

It hurt. Everything hurt and I felt like it was his fault. He cried and I laughed at him.

And I kept laughing. I laughed hard, trying to fucking breathe. I wanted it to stop. I wanted Caleb back so he could make it stop. I wanted to see him smile at me so I could breathe again. I needed to fucking breathe again.

I felt tears on my cheeks and I hated them. I hated what they meant. I wiped them away angrily but they kept coming. I kept wiping them away until the skin on my face was rubbed raw and I still cried. And when I couldn’t cry anymore…my chest heaved until I vomited.

He had to come back. I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop. I needed him. It hurt and I needed him to make it stop.

My parents tried to comfort me. They didn’t even yell at me for Alec’s nose and I lashed out at them too. They tried to touch me…tried to make it better and I was angry with them for even trying. They couldn’t help. I needed…I needed Caleb and I wanted them…or some fucking body to give him back.

I locked myself in my room and I don’t think I ate for days. I just lied there, crying…even when I didn’t have any tears, I cried, sobbing dryly as I clutched my pillow to my chest, praying that he’d be there when I opened my eyes.

He never was.

My mother said it’d get better. She said what amounted to ‘you’ll get over it’. She said I needed to take care of myself. I told her I couldn’t and she actually got frustrated with me for the first time since Caleb…since Caleb…

“You got along fine for seventeen years before you met him, I’m sure you can manage a bit to eat now” she said, and I gaped at her. She held her ground at first, staring back at me sternly, but it wasn't long before she sighed. “I’m sorry. I promise it’ll get better, baby. Let me bring you a sandwich.”

I told her to fuck off. Because…I may have been fine before I met him, but I couldn’t remember how I did it anymore. I couldn’t remember how I ate. I couldn’t remember how I did anything.

Caleb… Only a couple days ago, saying his name had filled me up until I felt like I could burst. And when I said it now…I choked on it.

He never said anything. I wished…I wished he would have just said something. I wondered if I should have made him. Forced him to talk. But…he never would have let me get close to him if I’d done that. He would have pushed me away. It’s what he did. You didn’t ask Caleb questions he didn’t want to answer more than once. If you tried, he’d never give you a chance to ask again. I saw him push so many people away…I never wanted it to be me.

I argued with myself, alone in my room for countless hours. I played a ton of different, useless, scenarios in my head, wondering which one would have made it better for him. What I could have done to make him stay. But they were all useless because it was too late. He was already gone.

I wanted him back. I needed him back.

But I couldn’t have him. And the tears were back again.

“I want to go back.” I sobbed the words to myself, over and over. I want to go back, I want to go back. I want to go back…

I wanted to fix it. I should have done something. I should have been better. I should have paid better attention and I should have…stopped him. I wanted to go back so I could stop him. I wanted to know why he did it. Why, when he had me and he said he loved me. And I fucking loved him. I wanted him to tell me why so I could fix it, but it was too late.

I wanted… I want…

I want to go back…

I prayed. I went to sleep. Prayed and went to sleep. Over and over. I couldn’t do anything without him. I couldn’t move. Please, give him back.. I prayed. And I prayed some more, even though I wasn’t even sure I believed in God. I swore I would though. I’d believe if he just gave him back.

I prayed hard and then went to sleep every night, convinced that eventually someone would answer and I’d wake up laying on his chest, still sore from the night before. I wanted it to be a dream. I didn’t want it to be real anymore. I couldn’t fucking handle it anymore.

I cant… I can’t…

I thought the tears were never going to stop. But when my throat was so raw from screaming, I thought I’d never speak again, and when my eyes were so swollen I couldn’t see…I thought about him and…I didn’t cry. The tears didn’t come.

And then… I wanted to hate him.

I still want to hate him. He left me. On purpose. He said he loved me. He gave me everything I thought I wanted that night…and for what? To torture me?

He can’t have meant it. It didn’t make sense. If he loved me…he would have told me what was going on. He would have let me help. He wouldn’t have left, not if he really cared. He wouldn’t have left me alone.

I want…I want so badly to believe it was a lie. I want to believe that each and every one of his ‘I love you’s’ had been lies. But…I know they weren’t. The times that he held back…those were the times he was lying to me.

I can still smell his scent on my skin. I still have the bruises from where his fingers dug into my skin. I can still see the marks in my arm from his fingernails. I can still feel the bruises on my neck where he bit me.

The marks make it impossible to forget and I wish…I wish they had bad memories attached. But they don’t. And I can’t forget. I don’t know how.

I love him. More than anything. I always will.

I want to hate him for that… And I do hate that I can’t figure out how to do that.

I laugh now. When I hear his name, or when I see something that reminds me of him, I laugh Caleb’s angry, broken laugh. And sometimes, no matter how hard I laugh, the tears come anyway.

I was there for him—always there—when he was hurting. I would have done anything to fix whatever was broken in him. And even if I couldn’t have done anything to fix it…I was there. For him, I was always there.

But he’s not here for me.

I wish I could stop loving you. I wish I never started.