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Defeated by the amount of questions in my head, I leaned back on the couch and watched the cup in my hands. The tea liquid still spiraled smoke to my nose, unclogging the airways that had become clogged with my crying. I hated crying in front of others. I hated showing any sign of weakness. Only that night had he acted more inconsequentibly than years.

"Anyhow, I've already screwed up and I don't want to see him again," I shot with pure pride in my voice.

Beatrice sighed, but nodded. She was silent for a moment, just watching the opposite side of the room, reflecting on the craziest friend she had. Beatrice has never seen me cry either. I think if she was used to it, maybe she would have offered me a hug or something. She just stood there, anyway, giving moral support for me to calm down.

I couldn't stop feeling like an animal that experienced wildlife and had to return to its captivity. Flynn aroused me so many sensations, so many questions about my way of leading life, that I could