It's Not About You Novels & Stories

"Are you that ashamed of me that you don't want to have anything to do with me?" "You're still not getting it." "Give this a try. Give us a try. Please!!!" "I made a post about it but you haven't said anything. The world is watching." "Since when did people's opinions start affecting you?" "It's not about the opinions. I promise you I don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks of me. I just..how do I explain this?" She sighed.

"That's not the actions of a coward. Get over yourself." It sounds so easy. But how?

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭..

My heart can’t take losing him, even imagining something happening to him makes me feel like standing between him and whatever threatened him. “Say it with me, it was never about me.” He chuckles a little and when I suck in a breath, he sees I am not joking about it, and he repeats it, but like he doesn’t believe it. “Louder.” “It was never about me.” “Good. People make choices, and that’s okay. Nobody’s life choice is about you, it’s what they choose to do. She loved you, you love her, you were the best thing that happened to her. If you think of it any other way, you’d be tainting the only good thing she had in life.”

she said. “For goddess's sake, this is not about you. This is my problem. Last night was incredible. You have outdone yourself. You did well, and I’m so happy we get to spend the time together, but you need to know that my acting this way doesn't have to do with you. Like I said, this is not about you.”

"Don't say that right now." "No, Maria, I am completely tired of walking on eggshells around her," Don insisted, aggressively shaking off Maria’s hand, stepping directly into Yolande's space, his chest puffed out with the self-righteous anger of a man who believed his time was the only currency that mattered. "We work in a major hospital, Yolande, lives are on the line here every single day, Maria and I are dealing with actual professional crises, complex surgeries, pathology reports, and you're throwing a public fit because you had to share a lunch table with a colleague? You are completely blowing this entire thing out of proportion, you're acting like a spoiled teenager whose feelings got

"Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like you've spent your whole life trying to be smaller so people have less to comment on. And it never worked. People are always going to have something to say." I don't answer right away, because some old, tired part of me wants to explain myself even here, to her and wants her to list every reason I've made the choices I've made, every logical justification for years of trying to take up less space in a body that never asked to be a topic of public conversation. I catch myself before I start. "I'm working on it," I say instead, shorter than my instinct wants it to be.

“Yes. He’ll be transported under medical supervision. I insisted. I thought… it might feel more real that way.” Laya nodded slowly. “I’d like a few moments with him before the ceremony. Alone.” “Of course.” The fire crackled. A moment passed in silence. “I want to be clear,” Laya said quietly. “This isn’t love. This isn’t romance. This is survival, for both of us.” “I know,” Cybil said, with the ghost of a smile. “But sometimes, survival is enough.” She poured a small glass of sherry from a crystal decanter on the side table and offered it to Laya.

she declared. Lan Keith wanted to respond to her when his phone chirped. It's Aaron Rodgers and he answered “I'll be with you” he hung up and walked past her to take his coat “I will respond to you later” he said and walked briskly away. Fiona Johnson felt a sudden emptiness in her. Why is she feeling as though she doesn't want him to leave her? She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, his body scent sending her ecstatic. And to think that he walked away as if he was not having a deep injury covered below his coat was something she cannot fathom. Just what kind of a man is he?

“Hey, I know your love life is a hiccup. You don’t have stump on mine.” “It’s not about me.” “It is.” “My word is final. You wanna do your own thing, pack out and go do it.” “I’m thirteen!”