I’m sorry I keep fucking up.

I’m sorry I’m wasting my second chance.

Mandy looks over at me with her raccoon eyes and mess of blonde hair. “You left me alone in the bar, stuck paying the dinner bill, to chase my sister into her car, Dean.”

Shit.

I’m really sorry for that.

“It’s not what you think, Mandy. It’s not… it’s not like that. We’re trying to get through this shit together, and I’m not handling it well.” I puff my cheeks with air and let out a hard breath. “There’s no handbook, or guide, or Surviving Life After Earl’s Torture Chamber For Dummies. There’s literally no one else out there like us because he murdered them all. We’re an anomaly—we’re not supposed to be here, and it’s fucking me up.”

Mandy reaches out a tentative hand, resting it atop my own. “I’m trying to be patient, I really am. But when you’re always running to her and away from me, it hurts. I should be the one helping you through this. I should be your anchor.”

“I know,” I say, my voice pitching. “Trust me, I know.”

She squeezes my fingers in her warm hand, offering me a wistful smile. “Maybe you need medication…” she suggests.

“I’m not sick, Mandy.”

“You are sick. You have PTSD… you were tossing and turning all night, sometimes yelling and shaking the bed. You haven’t figured out your car situation, or when you’re going back to work, or how you’re going to pay for anything when your savings runs out. You drink all day, every day. You haven’t said a word about the wedding. You won’t touch me or kiss me—in fact, it seems like you don’t even want me around.” Mandy ducks her head, biting back tears. “You’re not okay, and I don’t know how to help you.”

I don’t know how to help me, either.

“I think I just need time.”

I can see her scanning my face, trying to read me, out of the corner of my eye. Mandy pulls back and starts wringing her hands together, inhaling sharply. “Do you need time away from me? Do you need space?”

I run my tongue along the roof of my mouth, rolling my jaw. “I just need time to think, I guess. I don’t know.”

“To think about if you want to spend the rest of your life with me or not?” Her voice sounds scared, edging on panicked.

I glance at her. “I don’t know, Mandy. I don’t know what I want anymore.”

I thought I knew what I wanted. I had my future all set up, locked in, ready to go. Mandy and I have always been good together. It’s been easy and low key. No drama. Minimal fighting. Maybe a little stale at times, but that’s bound to happen when you’re with the same person for one and a half decades.

But now I feel like something’s always been missing.

That spark.

A profound connection.

Fun.

I feel like I’m a different person and Mandy hasn’t changed at all. I’m evolving, and she’s stagnant. I’m picking apart all the things that make us different, all of our flaws and missing parts. I care about Mandy, absolutely, but do I love her?