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In an attempt to wipe the tears away, I swept my sleeve across my right cheek.
I tried to keep my head down as I entered the kitchen, but I knew my eyes were puffy. I lazily through my lunch into the microwave, thinking I could make it back to my room without crying more. Instead, my housemate entered:
She asked, “what happened Izzy??”
I didn’t have to look at her to hear the sadness in her voice.
I just shook my head. I didn't want to speak as I felt the corners of my eyes dampen again.
She asked again, with more desperation this time.
When we made eye contact, I continuously shook my head because I knew once I uttered a word I would break down.
In the next moment, I knew I was about to lose control.