Open to M/F/NB.
“I’m struggling to see what’s hard to comprehend–– I told you I loved you,” he began, his face a picture of bitterness and his voice laced thick with venom, “–– and you ran away. Quite literally out of my house.” He hissed, “What? And now you show back up, just thinking you can walk back into my life like nothing happened? No. You don’t get to just come around for the good shit. To run away when my PTSD gets bad or when I'm ‘harder to handle.’”













