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Maybe Shakespeare is right in believing love makes us killers
“Tell me, Van. Tell me why I’m on Blake’s car with my ass feeling as if it’s on fire. Tell me—” Fuck! “Because I fucking love you!”
“You wanted to know why I didn’t tell you about my dairy allergy.” I place my palm on her cheek. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or question your devotion. I simply don’t ever want you to be without because of me.” If she ever needed proof of how much I love her, this would be Exhibit A.
