“Why do you keep doing that?” “What?” He plays dumb, sweeping loose strands of hair from my face, and there he goes trying to change direction again, but my mind comes right back to the question at hand. “Why won’t you let me do the same for you?” “Because this is about you, not me.” “Can’t it be about both of us?” My voice cracks. “I don’t deserve to feel good.” The corners of his lips squeeze tight.
