PhillipForrest refused to talk to me, only whined, growled, and clawed at the edges of my control. Furious one second, broken the next. Every emotion that I buried seemed to rise through him. The pain, the guilt, the ache that made it hard to breathe.I hadn’t slept properly in four nights. My head was a mess, my body felt heavy, like I was constantly carrying something I couldn’t set down. And maybe I was.I returned every show of concern, every inquiry about well-being, with ‘I’m just tired.’Today, I guess, my mother wouldn’t take that reply again. She peeked into my room early in the evening, soft-voiced and justifiably worried.“Phillip, honey, you’ve barely eaten since yesterday. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell her that my heart was apart, that my chest felt like it was caving in, that I’d pushed away the only thing that ever made sense to me. But instead, I mumbled, “I just.. I’m tired. But I’m okay.”She frowned, walking closer till she
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