War

It's been two fucking weeks since I've seen her.

Touched her.

Heard her voice.

They've sent texts. A shitload of them. Mostly her. A few from King—dry updates, clipped check-ins, the occasional, "She asked if your ass is still breathing."

I never answered.

Couldn't find the will to.

The wounds from that night are too fresh.

Too raw.

And the part of me that misses her the most?

It's the same part I'm trying to keep locked in a ...