Three fucking years.
I was still in high school when they got together.
This thing with Gia has really messed me up.
I liked her.
No, I like her.
I still like her.
No matter how much I try, I can't evict her from my head.
The entire time I've been negotiating with the bank, begging for an extension, for a few more months to find a solution, she's been there, gnawing away at the back of my brain.
I scrub a hand tiredly over my face as it hits me again like a Mac Truck cruising along at ninety.
On top of everything that's happening, I'm trying to keep up with my workout regimen. I can't allow my life to go to hell. Playing professional football will be a whole new level. I need to be as physically and mentally prepared as I can.
The crushing weight that has been solely reserved for when I stopped home for an hour or two each week is now a constant presence. It presses against the walls of my chest until I can't breathe.