I ignore those feverish thoughts. My bare skin presses to him, rubbing against the soft fabric of his shirt. This isn’t simple infatuation that I can just ignore, hold my breath, and hope to have pass. It’s something that I can no longer protect myself against. If something happens to him now, it happens to me as well. The thought scares me to death. I’ve always been better off alone—always. That thought comes with a squeezing of my heart that is hard to ignore. I don’t want to be alone anymore, not when I can be with him.
