37. Bryanna

It has been three weeks since the last time I saw Nate.

No. To be more precise, it has been three weeks and five hours since the day he walked out of his apartment, walked out of my life. It has been three weeks and five hours of me trying to get up every morning and feel okay instead of feeling like a walking corpse. Numb.

It has been three weeks and five hours of me faking smiles in front of the world, enchanting those clients with my power suits and bravado only to be a messy, pathetic, and heartbroken girl behind my apartment's door.

It has been three weeks and five hours of me calling Nate's number to no avail.

I really meant nothing to him.

It hurts. It hurts like hell to acknowledge this fact even though my mind have been repeating it again and again and again. It hurts to acknowledge it. And to accept it? It's another story all together.

It is like I'm dying a painful death. Hanging from the ceiling, both of my hands tied at the wrists, and someone sliced my skin just dee