Maybe I was crazy to think I could move in with my girlfriend at fifteen. Especially when we haven't even been together that long. I miss my family. I miss home. And at the same time I never want to see any of it again. I wish I hadn't been forced to grow up so fast. I must be the worst person ever. Who would want a break from their partner unless they actually want to break up? I don't want to break up. I think I'd die if we broke up. And maybe that's part of the reason why I want a break. I need to talk with someone who already knows. Or with a therapist. Yeah. That sounds good. But how am I going to get Eleanor to understand? She's going to think it's her fault because of the sex thing. And it has nothing—well, barely anything to do with that. It's complicated. Everything is, always.
