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Lord knows I’ve kissed a lot of frogs. I’m due a prince.
I have no guilt about taking his money. I’d still have my waitressing job if I hadn’t let him talk me into making myself dependent.
Besides, I don’t need her pretending she’s a tough cookie when she clearly isn’t. She doesn’t need to be strong. I am strong. I can destroy anything that threatens her—if she just fucking tells me where to come get her.
I know her perfectly. Better than she knows herself. She’s a tangled ball of self-doubt, foolish pride, dumb hope, brilliance, masochism, and blind affection. And I’m obsessed. I need her back.
“I’m going to put a baby here.” He tickles the swell below my belly button.
And I don’t function well when she’s gone.
I can recognize feelings, but only Posy’s are real. Only Posy’s matter.
Posy Santoro isn’t in my system. She burst into life in my empty shell and made it into something. She is my system. Maybe I didn’t understand that before I lost her. I’m a man. I can be a cliché. Still, it’s true, and I know it now, ever since the moment I caught her. I don’t just get off on what she is—I need it.
It might hurt a little still, but he did me a favor when he kicked me out. He tore off my blinders. I wasn’t in love. I was deluded. I didn’t really lose anything at all. And his hyper-focus—it’s an opportunity. It’s how I’m going to get out of here again, and this time, I’m not going to look back.
I always thought falling for the wrong man would be my downfall—like it was for my mom. Maybe it’s worse if the wrong man falls for you.
Men get bored, and they ditch you, cheat, or push you away. That’s how it goes. If you’re lucky, you see it coming, and you go first. If you’re not, a guy dumps you and your suitcase on a sidewalk downtown.
Things are different now, though. She’s not defenseless anymore. She has me.
She’s as fragile as spun glass. She can run, and as weak as she is, she can take blow after blow. But her feelings—they’re so tender, so easily bruised. She allows herself to be crushed, over and over again.
The only person whose feelings I care about, and she’s the equivalent of an emotional eggshell.
And how fucked am I because I have no idea how to not want to be loved.
It’s so obvious when you think about it. It’s brilliant, really, and so messed up. A man dangles love. The girl leaps. She does what he wants. He castigates her for it. And then he dangles love again. How much higher will she leap? Because she has no other choice, right? If she wants what he’s offering?
There are only two choices. Accept being unloved. Or try harder. I’m a scrapper. Of course I wasn’t giving up.
“Dario is the kingmaker. And you’re his woman. Do you know what that makes you?” I shake my head. “Powerful.”
“I didn’t fully understand then.” “Understand what?” “That it bothers me when you’re unhappy.”
“So you care about me?” “I’d die for you. Kill for you.” “You love me?” “I don’t know what that is.” “It’s like floating.” That’s how it was with him at the beginning. Everything was perfect. Magical. Right. “Then, no, I don’t love you.”
Her mother is the world to me. That will be enough.
