Things always look different in the morning. The things that are easy to say, those deep, dark secrets that spill from your lips in the dark of night, they look a lot different when lit up in the morning. Oliver and I spent more than half the night talking—broken by bouts of kissing—during which time I laid out the entirety of my life, every gory, painful detail. At the time, it felt right. It felt like I finally had someone who understood and cared, who would help me put all my broken pieces back together. Sometimes, when you do something like that, you wake up the next morning full of regret.
Chapter Thirteen
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