~ Camilla

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I do not care.

The words left my lips in a sharp whisper, the same way you mutter prayers you don’t really believe in but desperately hope will stick. I walked briskly down the hall, heels clicking too loud, echoing back at me like mocking laughter. My chest felt tight, my throat burned, and still, still, I forced the mantra out.

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

He can do whatever he wants.

It’s none of my business.

It shouldn’t matter to me.

But why did it matter? Why did my chest feel like someone had plunged their hand into it and...