Ryan had cried during the vows. I did, too.
So why did I feel like I was waiting for something to go wrong?
Maybe because that’s what it always felt like in high school. I’d learned to brace myself before walking into rooms, before hearing my name called, and before opening my locker to see something someone had written on the mirror.
There had been no bruises or shoves.
It was just the kind of attention that hollowed you out from the inside. And Ryan had been the one holding the shovel.
He never screamed at me. He never even raised his voice.
He used strategy, comments he made loud enough to sting but quiet enough to escape notice.
A smirk. A fake compliment. And a nickname that wasn’t quite cruel until it repeated enough times to become unbearable.
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