Forty.

DAMIAN.

Reiss, that loud mouth of his, and the way he spewed the question like it couldn't do potential damage. Even as I sat before my desk, pretending to focus on the unarranged pile of mess that I called paperworks before me, I could barely concentrate on anything.

I keep thinking about what I could have done or said differently. The image on her face when she tiredly walked to the door with Reiss haunted it and I knew it would stay on my mind for a while. What was wrong with me?

Yes, I like her. Yes, I like her. I imagined myself saying that to Reiss, and it worked out well in my head. I could have just said so, and I would have hurt her less. Everything would have been better off, and I'd be able to pull myself out of these thoughts.

Now, I couldn't concentrate, and I was on my second bottle of beer. I stood up and went to the windows where the landscape spread endlessly, and I sighed, pressing the can in my hands. I was tired of everything and how I always seemed to hit a brick