D A Y T W E N T Y O N E
ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐʸ ᵇᵃᵈ ʰᵃᵇⁱᵗ ʷᵃˢ ⁱⁿˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ, ʸᵒᵘ
August couldn't help but think,
the mother fucker was so damn focused on breaking her habits that he'd created a whole new problem.
He was the problem.
God damn it she couldn't function without him and she'd tried and she'd tried and nothing had worked.
He hadn't told her he was leaving and it was instead a week later, half the time in which they had spent together and fuck that hurt.
August had fought so hard with herself not to smoke, she'd lit the cigarette and watched it burn to the stub, only his face on her mind.
That motherfucker she repeated over and over again.
Bad habits?
Bad habits, huh?
He was a bad habit.
An addictive, time consuming bad habit.
He was her bad habit,
and honestly probably her worst.