Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

And then you're gone.

Four weeks now.

That hole, that dread.

I can barely breathe

Anywhere but here.

Anything but this.

I want to take your lead.

She's gone. It's been three months. Just like the song goes, the gaping hole in my chest shows no sign of recovery. I can't sleep. I can't breathe.

How is it possible that Miles went through something like this and came out calm and unaffected?

I try to study but I can't focus. The question eats at my mind. How is it possible that Miles, the cocky player, is the same guy as Miles, the wounded poet?

I have to know.

Meg: Can I ask you something?

Miles: You're up late.

Meg: Always am.

Miles: Shoot.

Meg: Do you write the lyrics for Sinful Serenade?

Miles: All but one song.

Meg: In Pieces?

Miles: Nope. That one is 100% Miles Webb.

Meg: Really?

Miles: You getting at something?

Meg: It's hard to imagine you going through something like that.

He doesn't reply. Five minutes pass. Then ten.

Meg: I only mean, because you're so casual about everything.

Miles: What do you know about how casual I am?

Meg: You're casual about sex.

Miles: And?

Meg: You're aloof and unaffected.

Miles: Says who?

Meg: Says me. The guy that wrote that song. He's affected. He's tortured. He hurts deep down inside.