Her mouth dropped open, and the excitement I saw the night I played the piano with her next to me flared in her eyes. “Synesthesia,” she whispered, and I heard the awe in her voice. “You’re a synesthete.” She didn’t put it to me as a question. Bonnie stepped closer, and I wanted to run again. Because it was all on me this time. But I fought it. I refused to run from her again. I blew out a breath. I’d told her. She hadn’t forced me to say it. She’d just played, somehow got beneath my walls, and the truth came pouring out.
