I'm poor, not homeless.

Tell me what we had was real, I whisper.

Como un angel," I whisper. "Is our game over?" she asks nervously. "It's definitely over, querida. 'Cause what we're gonna do next is no game.

Unfortunately, I can’t run from my heart. It hurts, deep inside my body. And I know I’ll never be the same.

It’s not Brittney’s face, not her smile, not even her eyes. All of that surface stuff made the world see her as beautiful, but it was the deeper stuff that made her different.

I'm the one who got hit by that car, not you,' I tell him. 'Don't act like you're the victim here. You made choices I didn't ask you to make. I'm not sure anyone asked you to make them.' I'm screaming the words, not caring that the entire world can probably hear me. 'You think I like limping everywhere I go? I don't. I'm the victim! Be honest with me! You didn't care about me enough to trust me. I gave you my heart, but it wasn't enough.

But I know loving someone means losing a part of myself.