“Damian, why did you trash the rooms?” I asked him as he lay on top of me, his head on my stomach. He didn’t say anything, so I sat up, so that we were facing each other. “Do you not want to tell me?” I reached out my hand to brush his hair away from his eyes, a gesture to tell him that it would be okay whether he told me or not. “No.. I just..” He was thinking about how to tell me about it, it showed on his face. He was unsure of how to tell me. “When you left, I broke,” he said at last. I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “But why the glasses?” Now that I thought about it, he only broke everything that he could see his reflections in them - mirrors, glasses, TVs. “I hated myself.” His voice was so soft I thought I was imagining his answer. His head was down. I knew it was hard for him to open up to me, but I could see that he was trying. I wanted to ask more,
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