Breakdown.

"This is my job, Breana." He spat, my full first name rolling off his tongue bitterly. "You knew what the fuck you were getting into when we first got together."

I rolled my dark eyes, pacing angrily around the living room and kitchen area.

"I know, Dylan." I shot back, quickly running my free hand through my hair. "But what I didn't know was that you'd be gone for this long. You need a fucking break-"

He groaned loudly, interrupting my rant. I could easily imagine the frustrated look that was probably on his face right now. I had seen it many times before.

"We have to make sacrifices, babe-"

I flipped my phone shut, ending our call, and tossed it onto the black coffee table in front of me. I plopped back into the black leather couch. The T.V. was on, but I wasn't paying any attention to whatever was currently playing.

Dylan hated when I hung up on him like that. I knew he was pissed, even more than before, but so was I.I was actually very surprised that he hadn't tried calling me back to cuss me out, or even just send a nasty text like usual.

"Sacrifices, my ass." I muttered, propping my feet up onto the coffee table.

I was the only one making sacrifices in this relationship. Dylan was off living his dreams right now. He got to travel across the world, play his music, and party all night and day. While I, on the other hand, simply waited for him to come home or visited him on the road every other month.

I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming. Dylan Alvarez drove me absolutely crazy. And I didn't know how much more I could take.



I hugged my knees against my chest, rocking myself back and forth as I held back the tears that threatened to fall.

I miscarried that day. Six days ago.

I hadn't even known that I was pregnant. The doctor said I was only five weeks along. Five weeks, two days actually. It made sense since I had visited Dylan in Nashville the month before.

I didn't tell him. I couldn't. Maybe it's because I still partially blamed him for causing me so much stress. But at the same time, I wanted all of the blame put on myself instead.

I wasn't strong enough. I let him stress me out, which hurt the baby in return.

It was my fault.

A shaky breath escape my lips. Both my head and my heart were pounding. I desperately wanted to call Dylan, tell him everything, and have him comfort me. I wondered if he would even fly home to be with me. I could practically feel my cell phone burning a hole in my back pocket.

I felt like a weak child, huddled in the back of a closet like this.

It was truly pathetic.

"Bree?"

I snapped my head towards the door and saw Kayla standing over me, her hands placed against her hips. She stared down at me with sympathetic eyes and a matching weak smile. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged, not knowing the correct words to explain myself. Using the wall beside me, I pulled myself to my feet. My legs felt like Jell-O and my stomach was weak.

Without another word, we both turned to the mess of clothes strewn across the bed. I picked up a black sweatshirt, my eyes roaming over the front design. It was one of my many Hollywood Undead hoodies.

Of-fucking-course.

I scowled and tossed it to the top of the bed, far away from me.

"You okay?" Kayla asked softly as she folded a pair of jeans over her arm.

A single hot tears spilled down my warm cheek.

"No."