Just like the past seven months, my night was cold and silent. Everyone was used to my habitual late returns, and I would hate it if they had to wait for me. Hence, I just went home with no one nagging me and went to bed after changing.
"Two hundred and sixteen nights, Sam," I whispered, raising the cross earring over me. "I've been spending the night alone for that long now."
My eyes softened at the necklace I always kept with me. "And it still hurts."
Actually, I yearned for him even more now. People thought I had recovered, and that I was getting better — I wasn't.
'I was getting worse and worse…' and that wasn't a secret to myself. I told Zero the reason I was doing all this was out of boredom. It wasn't a complete lie.
If I stopped and rest for even half a day, the pain of what happened seven months ago would devour me whole. That was why I had gotten drunk, of all other things, to distract me.
