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Unlike Ryder, I cried all the time. I cried when Leigh made me laugh too hard. I cried when I saw my mother in pain. I cried at the end of a great book, or when I heard a beautiful harmony. I cried when I lost a patient at the infirmary. I cried when I felt overwhelmed. It was the least brave quality—to be sensitive and fearful and full of tears.
I was furious with the man. So, so furious. But I also wanted to lick his neck. It was complicated.
“There is only true courage in facing what frightens you. What you call fear is indeed power, and you can wield it for good.”
“It’s only fair. I’ve stared at you. Most of the time, I can’t seem to look at anything else.”
“You’re very good at that.” “Good at what?” “Relentless positivity.” Humor twitched at my lips. “That doesn’t sound like a good thing.” “There is nothing more valuable in a world as dark as ours.”
And then, I thought of myself. Every exploitation, manipulation, blow, insult. Everything that had shaped my childhood and these past few years. A life wasted in fear, hiding from what was outside, terrified of being alone yet always feeling lonely.
