“So that was a time before you both became frustrated with each other?” The psychiatrist said looking up from the his notepad. I swear that notepad was the thing holding my fate of losing that girl sitting next to me. The girl I love.

“We aren’t frustrated with each other,” I said in a lower tone than I normally do. Haven noticed, turned her head with a sympathetic but confused look. She doesn’t want to be here either.

“Would you like to expand on that Trevor?” I want to know why doctors like him always ask the same questions.

“No. I would not. I want you to put your goddamn notepad down and ask a question that means something. Like, ‘Do you love Haven, Trevor?’ because that is why we are here,” I replied and he put his notepad down.

He looked me straight in the eye, “Trevor. Do you love Haven?”

Haven turned again and looked at me, I looked at her, “Yes.”

She replied with the saddest crack in her voice, “Then why did you do this to me?”

The psych added into the silence, “You can answer her, Trevor.”

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