You should just go home.

It’s been an hour, almost. They’re not showing up. The fidgeting is only getting worse, the ache in your chest is suffocating. It hurts. And there’s only so much time the store owner will let you stay, you know.

Just as you begin gathering your stuff, they walk through the door. Who is they? Your ex-girlfriends, of course! Two wonderful girls you so crudely broke up with due to your own problems. Ones you have never even bothered to tell them about.

It’s all your fault.

Awkward greetings are exchanged, then they seat themselves. Two chairs side-by-side, one chair all alone. A perfect, physical example of your current situation.

Lips open and close, trying to form a word- to say anything to kill the silence. Maybe you’ll cry before you even get a chance to explain yourself, with the tears in your throat. Salt burning your esophagus.

You’re so fucking pathetic.