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When darkness prevails, love remains.

I truly hope so.

Lots of love,

Vicky Sullivan

11

Vicky

Shit.

I think I’ve just reached the lowest point in my life.

As I stumble out of the counselor’s office into the hall, tripping over my own two feet, someone almost hits me. My stomach is churning; the urge of emptying my stomach overwhelms me. Inside my mind I know that I’m in denial, and yet I can’t quite grasp the meaning of it all as her words keep coming at me like an echo.

“You need to accept that your feelings for Bruce are unhealthy.”

Unhealthy.

That’s what she said when I mentioned how often I think about Bruce, and I didn’t even admit the full extent.

Bruce is constantly on my mind.

Like. All. The. Time.

Even now, flashes of Bruce keep circling before my eyes.

His smile. His eyes. His happiness whenever his team scores a win.

How can she, the counselor, the judge, everyone, be so wrong?

The fact that I can’t see him, haven’t heard of him in what feels like an eternity, is too much.

The smell of coffee hits my nose as I stumble into the canteen. There are only a few tables, but most are occupied, the unfamiliar faces as grim as mine. Without a doubt, they want to be here as much as I do.

Which is not at all.

“Hey, Vicky. Over here.”

I turn in the direction of the voice calling my name and spy Sylvie waving from a corner booth on the east side. She’s wearing a short dress and cowboy boots that draw attention to her long, tanned legs.

I make my way toward her.

“Coffee?” Without waiting for my answer, she pushes her cup toward me.

“No, thanks.” I grimace at the strong smell.

“Not a fan?”

“It’s not that.” I press my fingers against my temples in a futile attempt at easing the tension inside my skull. “I’m kind of sick.”

Which is an understatement.

I feel like I’m being squeezed into a can of sardines where even talking requires Herculean effort.

“How’s the coffee?” I ask.