History Repeats. Sort of.
Kelly
I'm pacing the floor behind the couch, mostly watching Crash on the television screen, but also cursing myself. The urge to see him, touch him, so is so strong it physically hurts. I want to dive through that screen and land in his arms and never leave. But the fear of what he'll think when he finds out . . . How angry he'll be . . . how it will break him to know what I went through . . .
It's the thing that's always kept me away in my fragile moments: If I bring Crash back into my life he's going to find out everything that happened. And he's going to blame himself. And it might destroy him. And the last time I saw him it was pretty clear he didn't need any more destruction from me. He was imploding all on his own.