"Sometimes I just can't fucking believe you," Grace seethed. In their bedroom she was hunched over her bag, shoving shoes and bits of clothing down and trying to get it to zip up. The room was in shambles.

Hannah stood in the doorway, arms crossed. The shorter woman ran a hand shakily through her hair. "You can't fucking believe me? I'd do anything for you Grace Helbig. I love you so fucking much that on the night I die I swear I'll sleep outside your window if that's what it would made you happy," Grace didn't look up, she just packed and hoped Hannah didn't see the tears that were falling onto that red baseball shirt Hannah had on the morning after their first night together.

Hannah threw up her hands, away. Her footsteps echoed in the apartment, like each second was punctuated by Hannah walking away. Grace looked up then. She ollowed Hannah down that hall because no way was she going to have the last word. No way was she leaving on that note

Hannah could already feel the knife going in.

I'm feeling anxious.

"I fucking saw you with him, Grace," Hannah turned on her, stopping short of the living room and facing her suddenly. Her small frame was tense with anger; her fists were shaking at her sides. "Don't you even deny it because I saw you and I can't believe you'd do that to me. I thought our love was better than that."

"Me?" Grace shrilled. Tears streaked her face and made her eyeliner run. It hurt so bad to fight. Hannah hated herself for being so weak because in that moment all she wanted to do was kiss away Grace's tears.

But that'd be like ignoring what she saw. Like saying, "Hey it's okay. This pain I'm feeling is not enough to kill me but that's how it feels and I thought I'd happen fast but this is slow and drawn out. I don't mind. Keep doing what you're doing."

Hannah pulled out the notebook she always kept in her back pocket and bent over the hall table. Her hand moved erratically, unsteadily; scrawling in it. Grace watched on, waiting, , tapping her foot to the beat of her heart.

"I'm writing this. This feeling. And I'm going to fucking send it to you in a red envelope when you're happy with him so you can read it and remember and try to feel how I am feeling right now," Hannah's lisp became more pronounced as her anger dissipated into sadness.

"Do you think I'll make it to the morning if it's written? Do you think that when I get that letter I'll come back to you and see that smug look you get when you know you're right? Is that it?" Grace snatched the book and held it out of Hannah's reach. "I don't even like him, Hannah. He bought me a drink and I told him that I had a girlfriend. I can't believe you'd think I was cheating on you," Grace's voice broke.

"You're kid- what?" she stopped short, her eyes flitting from the notebook in Grace's hand to her brown eyes which were melting with a sadness that permeated the space between them. There was no anger now, only hurt.

"You heard what I said, Hannah Hart. He brought me a drink and tried to come onto me, which is presumedly what you say. I told him that I had you and I wasn't interested and then I came home to you like this. Who knew a coffee on the way home could bring us here?" she tossed the notebook. It skidded across the little table and thudded against the wall.

"Why didn't you say that before? Why were you ready to leave?" Hannah's voice was quiet. Lisping more.

"Because you're a huge idiot and I was so hurt that you'd think I'd do that to you," Grace wiped tears away with the heel of her hand.

"Stitch it up," Hannah whispered.

They slept on a pile of Grace's clothes that night because they were too emotionally exhausted to pack them all away and because that sad energy was too easy to turn into passion with Hannah standing there all sad and cute, too irrestistable for Grace not to take right then while they were both still crying.

Make up sex would go down in Hannah's notebook as one of the best experiences in her life.

Sleeping inches from each other, they let it pass.