It’s not anything you’ve done or said. There are no marks on me exposing a wound. There is just emotion. “Please talk to me, what did I do?” ...With tears in my eyes all I can do is press my head against your chest. “…hold me” is all I can mutter as tears start to leave their wet trail down my cheeks. “Oh, Michelle, I’m so sorry, please talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.” I say nothing; just press myself against you keeping my arms pulled tight up against my chest, almost as if it’s a wedge. It was a miracle she had even heard her phone with the DJ playing his tunes at levels loud enough to make her ears bleed. She had blearily pulled the small flip phone from her sparkly bag and read the message as she fell into an empty cubicle, kicking the door shut with her stiletto shoe. As soon as she saw the sender’s number, her world crashed down like a house of cards. It had been a long time since she’d heard from him, but his number was etched onto her memory in blood. How could he do. More

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