I found that I was scared to turn around, scared to look at him. I knew this because I was painfully aware of the way that my heart was thudding in my chest, thudding so wildly that I was almost sure that it would bounce out of my chest at the first opportunity that it got.
I would be lying if I said that the situation didn’t feel surreal, because it did. This man, this man who I had spent hours upon hours hearing about, hearing every single detail about him that everyone else had deemed as important, while making me sick of it.
I was almost angry with him.
No, I lie. The truth of the matter was that I was angry—just not as angry as I could have been.
I asked myself, why now? Why did he choose to come back now? Had he been subjected to the very same torture that I had, whether he h
