#Chapter27
It had been said that when it came to life, we were destined to make the same mistakes over and over until we learnt our lesson: I had interpreted it as a metaphor.
Never in the seven realms of possibilities had I considered it meant I would have been standing outside of Deacon Baxter's house at one A.M in the morning, a house brick in one hand and my own weeping fucking heart in the other.
But here I fucking was. Hot tears scalded a path down my cheeks, and noisy, hiccup-soaked sobs clawed their way from my lips. And my chest! My fucking chest! It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. Every time I breathed, every time I moved. Fuck, with every damn thought I had, it felt like Thor was bitch slapping me with his hammer.
Although, that would have probably hurt less.
