A sob claws its way out of me. Then another. And a third. Yasmin rocks me through it all, one hand stroking my hair, murmuring nonsense words that don’t mean anything except, You’re not alone.
“What am I supposed to do?” I finally manage to splutter. “How am I supposed to—”
“We’ll figure it out,” she promises. “Together. Like we always do.”
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her so badly it kills me. But belief requires hope, and I’m fresh out of that.
My sobs quiet and eventually fade away. Finally, she asks, “What do you need?”
That’s what best friends are for. Not What are you going to do or How are you feeling or any of the other bullshit questions people ask when they’re really just waiting for their turn to talk. Just, What do you need?
I don’t know how to answer he
