He'll let you down, the defensive part of my brain argued. He'll hurt you worse than all the others. "I won't," Johnny stated, seemingly able to read my thoughts. "Whatever you're used to," he continued to say, eyes locked on mine. "Or whoever you're used to. Whatever's responsible for that sad look in your eyes –" he paused to brush his thumb over my cheekbone. "That's not me, I'm not like that, and I won't do that to you." "You promise?" I whispered, then quickly chided myself. When I was anxious, I always asked for a promise. It was a terrible habit I had from spending years of my life
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