l still remember her face from all those years ago. We were just two broke people living paycheck to paycheck, with the worst apartment imaginable, broken heating, faucets and the floor sure had their personalities, but she always managed to carry a smile on her face. No matter how bad it got she never wavered but that day was different, when she got home she wasn’t her vibrant pinky pie loving self. She looked as if one touch one more word would break her into a thousand pieces and it broke my heart to see her like that, but what the hell could I do, especially when she looks like that.

I remember the sounds the floor boards made as I paced back and forth for what felt like hours just to muster up the smallest ounce of anything to bring myself to face Myka but as I walked down the hall my legs felt weaker with every step closer. But as I jiggled the door handle to hear the slight creak of the door opening, my eyes fell to Myka. Curled up in the furthest most corner of her room, hiding under the covers like a little kid. A sense of relief almost fell through me when I saw her. I approached her more cautious than I've ever been until I finally reached her bed side, crouching down to reach her eye level as I slowly peeled back the covers from her face. I spoke as gently as I could when I asked her "What's wrong?" but that's all it took for her to break. A stream of unstoppable tears with an ear piercing cry silenced out by the pillows and the only thing I could think to do was hold her while she cried. I don't know how long we sat there for but I could feel her pain in every teardrop. When she was finally ready to talk , she said one thing I didn't want to hear.