Or rather, down my stomach and onto my fat ass. I’ve been drowning myself in it, as well as Doritos, coffee, and the occasional martini while sobbing with Stephanie. Every sip was another sentence to tell, and every time it got too much, I just took another sip to quell my anger and sadness. These past few days I’ve been camping out in Stephanie’s house, not able to sleep in my own bed because it smells like him. Everything in my house reminds me of him; the laptop he snooped at, the couch he sat on, the coffee mug he drunk from, the carpet he walked on … even the fucking air smells of him. I can’t take it. I hate him. I hate that I love him. I hate that he pushed me out, just like that. As if it didn’t mean a thing to him. I crush another pencil with my hand. “Goddammit.” “Sam … you gotta try to calm yourself down,” Steph says as she grabs the laundry basket.
