At least I’ve stopped bursting into tears about it, at least I’m getting to feel more angry and righteous and strong and in charge of things. My stomach still hurts, and I still feel pretty dreadful, but I’m better, much more removed, and very grateful.

I am doubly furious and disgusted now. I can’t stand to think about you or us or what just happened. I can’t believe you’re just going to go out to your party like that’s important to you.

God how I wish I could talk to you sometimes.

I hate the way things are now, I hate the way we act about each other. I just can’t stand it. It’s so horrible and stiff and fake, and I’m so full of resentment and anger and I can’t tell if it belongs to you or if I just put it there.

The gift box was small and square, and my face flushed as my boyfriend handed it to me. How perfect, that he would get me a ring for my twenty-seventh birthday; how excited he looked, handing it to me first thing that morning, as I propped myself up on my elbow in bed.