He can’t save my breasts. I can’t save his voice.
But what we can do is take the scariest thing we’ve ever faced and make it better…tolerable…dare I even say…fun.
At 24 and facing an uncertain future, I wasn’t looking for this. I wasn’t looking for him. But life never asked me what I wanted.
We come from different worlds. He’s an artist. I’m a bartender. I wonder, however, if this horrible bond we share is enough to bridge the gap between us.
What happens if we don’t get better?
What happens if we do?
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