I wonder what he's thinking right now. I wonder if it's what I'm thinking. Does he feel bad? Is the pit of his stomach filled with a miserable regret like mine is? Is he satisfied? Is that what he really wanted? Does he still love me? Will we be okay? God, I hope we'll be okay. I can't ever lose him now... It's true what they say about the attachment. There's silence. It's uncomfortable, and the whole room is stagnant, still, unmoving. Time seems to have frozen. I dare to look in his direction. He's staring at something at the wall that no one else can see. His unsure gaze meets mine. "When will your parents be home?" he asks. "Soon." I reply nervously. He stands up, slides his feet into those ratty old tennis shoes, and reaches for his jacket. I catch his hand and stare at him, tears now beginning to well in my eyes. "Are you... leaving?" He shoots me an apologetic look, and drops his head, trying to avoid my pained face. "Yeah.. I don't think I need to be here right now. I have things to think about." I immediately burst into tears. He walks over and sits on the bed next to me. I feel his hand on my still bare back. He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead. Without another word, he gets up and heads for the door. I don't speak. I can't. What has become of me?