Take Your Pick

He looked at me sadly.

"Take your pick," he said softly.

Now I have to make a tough decision.

"I-I need t-time to th-think about all of this-s," I stuttered out, almost in tears.

"Okay. If you go with me, I'll know. If you go with him, you don't have to tell me," he said in the same, soft voice, almost choked up. He looked like he'd break down and cry any second, something I'd never seen him do, but his grey eyes had such sadness, I almost couldn't bare.

"See you tomorrow, maybe, Brian," I said, crying just from his physical state--what I had done to him. What I had done to myself.

(I hope this isn't too depressing)

Winner of MissMaccaSunshine's writing contest.