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"I don't even deserve be called your boyfriend at this point." He sighed, "this is so messed up."
I gazed down at the delicate porcelain cup resting in my hands, watching the wispy steam curl up as if it could carry my thoughts away. My fingers shook a bit, and I hated that he picked up on it—hated how he always seemed to see right through me, even when I fought to keep it all together.
"Ethan," I murmured, my voice more fragile than I meant for it to be, "it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, elbows resting on his knees. His shoulders drooped, like he had been carrying something unbearably heavy all night. "It's my fault! I shouldn't have let you go alone. I knew that party was a bad idea, yet still, I let you walk into it without me."
