He'd made foolish decisions before. Most of them didn't stick. Like skipping school. He could make that up. Getting drunk. The hangover'd be gone by mid-afternoon. Lost at the arcade. He'd get the money back one way or other.
It wasn't so simple now. She was sitting on his couch with that little strip he could toss in the bin with his nicotine patches and forget about – except he couldn't. Because she'd already showed him, told him, and there was a limit as to what could be thrown away.
There was a part he couldn't cover nor replace inside her.
The Micro-Fiction Boot Camp (at The Writer's Challenge Cafe)
Prompt #002 - foolish