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The first tear leaked out. It was always the first one that caused the problem because, after that, the rest knew which way to go.
She wasn't asking about taking it home. She wasn't asking about curling up with it at night. She'd just asked him to make sure it got into her coffin.
Like a demon on a mission, the tiny slip of a girl stormed toward the front of the room. She slapped the whiteboard with her open palm, her other hand snagging a pen. "Pay real close attention, boys.
want to wrap my arms around you and swear it's going to be ok, but I can't." His fingers bent around hers. "I'll keep trying, though, if you will."
Down the road, not across the street. I was twelve. I missed."
He was scared to be alone; she was scared to be with people. He felt like he'd fade away if he wasn't touched; she felt like she'd be smothered out of existence if she was. He'd wanted so badly to die and make all the pain end; she still did. Everyone knew pain, but some lived closer to it than others.
"Most fucked up thing? Sitting here, waiting for the team, I realized I never would have done that if she'd been a guy. I just put my hands on her like I had a right to."
A simple gesture, moving her hair, meant so much more. He was taking care of her, protecting her, and showing affection, all with that one little touch.
Being flawed isn't about pity. It's about living with something locked inside you that you don't want the world to see."
"And she is not her past. It shaped her, but it doesn't own her."
Maybe she wasn't truly as broken as she'd always thought.
