The man who doesn’t date, shoves his feelings away, and tries to buy his way out of anything uncomfortable is offering me his heart. I can hardly breathe. “You make me feel good, Zara, and I haven’t felt good in a long fucking time. When I’m with you, it hurts a little less. It doesn’t go away, but I don’t hate life so much when you look at me like you’re looking at me right now,” he says. The pain etched in his features sends shivers down my spine. Reaching up, I run my fingers along his brow and down his cheek. Now
