Last night was pure, unrelenting torture. Hell, even. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up without losing my mind—or my dignity. Every second I spend pretending everything is fine feels like a betrayal to myself, to her, and to whatever fragile friendship we're holding onto.
The truth is, I'm nearing my breaking point.
Because last night? Last night was unbearable. Watching her dance, her body moving like it was made for the music, her laughter ringing in my ears even hours later—it was all too much. And then sharing a room with her, hearing the soft sound of her breathing as she slept, knowing she was only a few feet away but completely out of reach? It's the kind of agony that leaves a man desperate.
