43.

So here's the thing about broken hearts - no matter how hard you try to fit the pieces back together, you'll never be able to restore it to its original shape.

And so, after a while, you give up trying.

But him and I were different - we were puzzle pieces, made for each other to fit in the most intimate ways.

Sadly, it's not long before a puzzle is ripped apart and you start over, putting together a new one.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I think he had screamed, but I couldn't hear him over the loud music.

"What?" I scream back, and his hands grip my hips as I stumble over my own two feet, the drink well in my system at this point.

"I said, what are you doing here?"

When I just giggle and throw my head back, he shakes his head and his eyebrows furrow, and he takes my hand in his, guiding me up the stairs and to the top floor.