And boy, did he break it. As much a

And boy, did he break it. As much as a fifteen-year-old heart can be broken after the span of a two-week secret relationship. Turned out he was officially dating quite a few girls during the two weeks he was with me. Once Corbin found out, their friendship was over, and all of Corbin’s friends were warned not to come near me. I found it almost impossible to date in high school until after Corbin finally moved away. Even then, though, the guys had heard horror stories and tended to steer clear of Corbin’s little sister.
As much as I hated it then, I would more than welcome it now. I’ve had my fair share of relationships go wrong since high school. I lived with my most recent boyfriend for more than a year before we realized we wanted two separate things out of life. He wanted me home. I wanted a career.
So now I’m here. Pursuing my master’s degree in nursing and doing whatever I can to avoid relationships. Maybe living with Corbin won’t be such a bad thing after all.
I head back to the living room to turn out the lights, but when I’ve rounded the corner, I come to an immediate halt.
Not only is Miles up off the floor, but he’s in the kitchen, with his head pressed against his arms and his arms folded on top of the kitchen counter. He’s seated on the edge of a bar stool, and he looks as if he’s about to fall off it any second. I can’t tell if he’s sleeping again or just attempting to recover.
“Miles?”
He doesn’t move when I call his name, so I walk toward him and gently lay my hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. The second my fingers squeeze his shoulder, he gasps and sits up straight as if I just woke him from the middle of a dream.
Or a nightmare.
Immediately, he slides off the stool and onto very unstable legs. He begins to sway, so I throw his arm over my shoulder and try to walk him out of the kitchen.
“Let’s go to the couch, buddy.”
He drops his forehead to the side of my head and stumbles along with me, making it even harder to hold him up. “My name isn’t Buddy,” he slurs. “It’s Miles.”
We make it to the front of the couch, and I start to peel him off me. “Okay, Miles. Whoever you are. Just go to sleep.”
He falls onto the couch, but he doesn’t let go of my shoulders. I fall with him and immediately attempt to pull away.
“Rachel, don’t,” he begs, grabbing me by the arm, trying to pull me to the couch with him.
“My name isn’t Rachel,” I say, freeing myself from his iron grip. “It’s Tate.” I don’t know why I clarify what my name is, because it’s not likely he’ll remember this conversation tomorrow. I walk to where the throw pillow is and pick it up off the floor.
I pause before handing it back to him, because he’s on his side now, and his face is pressed into the couch cushion. He’s gripping the couch so tightly his knuckles are white. At first, I think he’s about to get sick, but then I realize how incredibly wrong I am.
He’s not sick.
He’s crying.
Hard.
So hard he isn’t even making a sound.
I don’t even know the guy, but the obvious devastation he’s experiencing is difficult to witness. I look down the hallway and back to him, wondering if I should leave him alone in order to give him privacy. The last thing I want to do is get tangled up in someone’s issues. I’ve successfully avoided most forms of drama in my circle of friends up to this point, and I sure as hell don’t want to start now. My first instinct is to walk away, but for some reason, I find myself oddly sympathetic toward him. His pain actually appears genuine and not just the result of an overconsumption of alcohol.
I lower myself to my knees in front of him and touch his shoulder. “Miles?”
He inhales a huge breath, slowly lifting his face to look at me. His eyes are mere slits and bloodshot red. I’m not sure if that’s a result of the crying or the alcohol. “I’m so sorry, Rachel,” he says, lifting a hand out toward me. He wraps it around the back of my neck and pulls me forward toward him, burying his face in the crevice between my neck and shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
I have no idea who Rachel is or what he did to her, but if he’s hurting this bad, I shudder to think what she’sfeeling. I’m tempted to find his phone and search for her name and call her so she can come rectify this. Instead, I gently push him back into the couch. I lay his pillow down and urge him onto it. “Go to sleep, Miles,” I say gently.
His eyes are so full of hurt when he drops to the pillow. “You hate me so much,” he says as he grabs my hand. His eyes fall shut again, and he releases a heavy sigh.
I stare at him silently, allowing him to keep hold of my hand until he’s quiet and still and there aren’t any more tears. I pull my hand away from his, but I stay by his side for a few minutes longer.
Even though he’s asleep, he somehow still looks as if he’s in a world of pain. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his breathing is sporadic, failing to fall into a peaceful pattern.
For the first time, I notice a faint, jagged scar, about four inches long,

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Dan anak laki-laki, apakah ia memecahkannya. Sebanyak hati lima belas tahun yang dapat rusak setelah rentang hubungan rahasia dua minggu. Ternyata ia resmi berkencan cukup beberapa gadis selama dua minggu ia adalah dengan saya. Setelah menemukan Corbin, persahabatan mereka sudah selesai, dan semua teman-teman di Corbin diperingatkan untuk tidak datang dekat saya. Aku menemukannya hampir mustahil untuk tanggal di high school sampai setelah Corbin akhirnya pindah. Bahkan kemudian, meskipun, orang-orang telah mendengar cerita-cerita horor dan cenderung untuk menghindari Corbin's adik.Sama seperti aku benci itu kemudian, aku lebih dari akan menyambut itu sekarang. Aku sudah saya adil hubungan salah sejak SMA. Aku tinggal bersama pacar saya Pemesanan selama lebih dari setahun sebelum kita menyadari kami ingin dua hal yang terpisah dari kehidupan. Dia ingin aku rumah. Aku ingin karir.Jadi sekarang aku di sini. Mengejar gelar master saya di Keperawatan dan melakukan apa pun yang saya bisa untuk menghindari hubungan. Mungkin hidup dengan Corbin tidak akan hal yang buruk setelah semua.Aku kepala kembali ke ruang untuk mematikan lampu, tetapi ketika saya sudah bulat sudut, aku datang untuk berhenti segera.Tidak hanya terserah Miles dari lantai, tapi dia di dapur, dengan kepala ditekan terhadap tangannya dan dengan tangan terlipat di atas meja dapur. Dia duduk di ujung bar bangku, dan ia tampak seolah-olah ia adalah tentang jatuh itu setiap saat. Saya tidak tahu apakah dia tidur lagi atau hanya mencoba untuk memulihkan.“Miles?”He doesn’t move when I call his name, so I walk toward him and gently lay my hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. The second my fingers squeeze his shoulder, he gasps and sits up straight as if I just woke him from the middle of a dream.Or a nightmare.Immediately, he slides off the stool and onto very unstable legs. He begins to sway, so I throw his arm over my shoulder and try to walk him out of the kitchen.“Let’s go to the couch, buddy.”He drops his forehead to the side of my head and stumbles along with me, making it even harder to hold him up. “My name isn’t Buddy,” he slurs. “It’s Miles.”We make it to the front of the couch, and I start to peel him off me. “Okay, Miles. Whoever you are. Just go to sleep.”He falls onto the couch, but he doesn’t let go of my shoulders. I fall with him and immediately attempt to pull away.“Rachel, don’t,” he begs, grabbing me by the arm, trying to pull me to the couch with him.“My name isn’t Rachel,” I say, freeing myself from his iron grip. “It’s Tate.” I don’t know why I clarify what my name is, because it’s not likely he’ll remember this conversation tomorrow. I walk to where the throw pillow is and pick it up off the floor.I pause before handing it back to him, because he’s on his side now, and his face is pressed into the couch cushion. He’s gripping the couch so tightly his knuckles are white. At first, I think he’s about to get sick, but then I realize how incredibly wrong I am.He’s not sick.He’s crying.Hard.So hard he isn’t even making a sound.I don’t even know the guy, but the obvious devastation he’s experiencing is difficult to witness. I look down the hallway and back to him, wondering if I should leave him alone in order to give him privacy. The last thing I want to do is get tangled up in someone’s issues. I’ve successfully avoided most forms of drama in my circle of friends up to this point, and I sure as hell don’t want to start now. My first instinct is to walk away, but for some reason, I find myself oddly sympathetic toward him. His pain actually appears genuine and not just the result of an overconsumption of alcohol.I lower myself to my knees in front of him and touch his shoulder. “Miles?”He inhales a huge breath, slowly lifting his face to look at me. His eyes are mere slits and bloodshot red. I’m not sure if that’s a result of the crying or the alcohol. “I’m so sorry, Rachel,” he says, lifting a hand out toward me. He wraps it around the back of my neck and pulls me forward toward him, burying his face in the crevice between my neck and shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”I have no idea who Rachel is or what he did to her, but if he’s hurting this bad, I shudder to think what she’sfeeling. I’m tempted to find his phone and search for her name and call her so she can come rectify this. Instead, I gently push him back into the couch. I lay his pillow down and urge him onto it. “Go to sleep, Miles,” I say gently.His eyes are so full of hurt when he drops to the pillow. “You hate me so much,” he says as he grabs my hand. His eyes fall shut again, and he releases a heavy sigh.I stare at him silently, allowing him to keep hold of my hand until he’s quiet and still and there aren’t any more tears. I pull my hand away from his, but I stay by his side for a few minutes longer.Even though he’s asleep, he somehow still looks as if he’s in a world of pain. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his breathing is sporadic, failing to fall into a peaceful pattern.For the first time, I notice a faint, jagged scar, about four inches long,