“That’s how it feels on my end,” Jack cut in. “You don’t know me at all. You just like the idea of me, the way I fit into some fantasy you have of a boyfriend. And it’s mixed with pity and a kind of morbid curiosity about pain and physical difference and curiosity about my mother dying and— Ugh. I hate it.” “That’s called liking a guy when you don’t know him that well,” said Adelaide. “You like the idea of a person, so you want to get to know him. It’s called not being closed off, and going after what you want, and it’s completely awful for you to go telling me there’s something wrong with me
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