“You had to write those awful emails,” he continues, lowering himself down next to me. Except he’s kneeling, and he’s still too close. I’m convinced he can hear my heart thrumming. “You had to kiss me, then kick me, then fill my head with your voice. You made it clear—so terribly clear—how much you hate me. That I’m the last person in the world you would ever consider. But I kept looking for signs that would suggest otherwise. I kept wondering if it was still possible. Because I’m willing to lose everything,” he says, his eyes blacker than the surrounding darkness, than the sky outside, “so
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