If you called me in the middle of the night hysterical because you’d stepped on a spider and accidentally killed it, I would cycle to your house. I just don’t want to feel trapped.
My stomach knots. I breathe. My chest whooshes into my throat. Get out, Get out, Get Out. There’s the door, I gesture, but he isn’t really listening. He’s backpedalling. He’s cute, but thanks for the reminder.
Don’t fuck with my life. Get out.