Page 112 of Bless My Body

Stella listened to me for over an hour when I first got home. She tried her best to see everything

from my perspective, but I understand why it’s hard for her. She’s always wanted to be with Ozzy.

She loves being in a relationship, and they’ve already discussed marriage after being together for

almost four years. I just can’t see myself like that. At least I couldn’t… until Ezra happened.

Being with him is all-consuming. We can’t go back to being just friends, not with everything I’m

feeling, and definitely not after he said those three words, which keeps replaying over in my mind. I

know he loves me, but hearing him say it out loud—putting it into the world like that—changes things.

After my last Friday class, I come home to an empty house. I go upstairs and shut myself in my

bedroom, which is what I’ve done every day this week. I lay back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

At nothing.

I miss him.

I miss talking to him, and I feel terrible for ghosting him after last weekend. But I don’t know how

to deal with what I’m feeling. This is new to me, and I’m out of my depth.

I look around the room. The room that used to belong to Ezra. I can feel him everywhere. I shoot

up out of bed.

I need to get out of here.

I throw a change of clothes and a toothbrush in a bag and take off. I shoot Stella a text letting her

know where I’m going so she doesn’t think I’ve run away or anything.

It takes two hours to get to my destination. Two hours of thinking about my life and my goals

before I turn into the driveway of my childhood home.

I texted my mom on the way to let her know I was coming. She responded with a bunch of smiley

face emojis, so I can only assume my visit is a happy surprise.

As soon as I open the front door, I’m hit with the nostalgic scent of the lavender candles my mom

loves to burn.

“Mom, Dad, I’m here,” I call out when I don’t immediately see them in the living room. This

house hasn’t changed a bit since I left. Not that I expected it to. My parents don’t like change.

My mom rushes out of the kitchen and wraps me in a hug. Everyone always says I’m a carbon

copy of my mom. Our hair is the same shade of red, although Mom has to color hers these days to hide

her gray, and we have the same hazel eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Celine.” She pulls away and looks at me. “Is everything ok? Not that I