I Can't Help It, But I Do

Althaia

Things at work had calmed down. I was taking a lot of stress off my mother’s shoulder now that I was back because, other than her, I was the only one skilled enough to sketch customers’ wishes. We had seamstress workers, not always in the boutique with us, but present when it got busy.

Time was going by so fast and before I knew it, three weeks already went by. It felt like time was going by even faster because as soon as I would get home from work, I would pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I haven’t been talking to Damiano as much, only squeezing in a text message here and there. He called me last night, and I was so tired that I fell asleep while talking to him, but he knew how busy things have been. I felt guilty that I barely had any time for him when he always made sure to have time for me. And he was the one with multiple businesses and running a Mafia.

Lately, I was feeling like I couldn’t get enough sleep, even though I was sleeping for over eight hours. It wa