To go or not to go

I glared down at the invitation sitting in front of me on my bed. It was worn and wrinkled from the countless times over the past three weeks that I've let myself look at it.

James and Sarah. Sarah and James. I looked at the date of the wedding, just three days away, and groaned, running a hand over my face.

I went into the kitchen where I had left the damn plane ticket and stared at the date of departure and the time. Tomorrow morning at five in the morning. I tossed the ticket back into the drawer and looked down at the closed drawer. The amount of times I've done this was almost as much as I've crumpled up the damn invitation.

I grabbed a half-full water bottle from my counter and threw it across the kitchen and stomped down the damn hall back to my room.

It's not healthy. None of my actions these past three weeks have been healthy. I've broken my no-crying rule countless times and taken myself into the dark corners of