There I stood. Agape at the audacity of what was happening in front of me. I thought, “So this is what pure unalduterated pain feels like”. I don’t know what I did to deserve it. I didn’t know how to react. So I ran. I ran to escape the humiliation of breaking down in public. I hid, as girls often do, in the safe haven of the ladies room as I tried to compose myself. And like a scene from a bad soap opera or a b-movie, I stared at myself in front of the mirror and let the tears flow, cursing my fate.

When i could finally breathe without wheezing, I stopped. I realized I was the victim of a hell of my own making. I wanted to be there. Nobody held a gun to my face to go. Told myself to suck it up, be an adult and face the consequences of my decisions. So I splashed water on my face, redid my makeup and walked out smiling, hoping no one could see the traces of a momentary loss of composure.

Then he reached out and hugged me. Suddenly everything was worth it.

Fiction.