“I’ll never hurt you,” he murmurs, teeth scraping against my shoulder. “I’d rather die.” The vulnerability in his words slices me open, leaving me raw and bare like never before. And I don’t have it in me to tell him that he’s already hurting me. He fucking hurts me with every touch, look, or kiss, painting an impossible picture in my brain. That this is real. That he might love me. But I know he doesn’t. Not the way I love him. “You’re not gonna break me,” I tell him for what might be the thousandth time, but the words taste bitter on my tongue, like the lie they are.
