“I told you the other morning. I’m not you. I can’t—” “No, you’re not,” I say, breathing harshly. “And thank fucking God for small mercies. I can barely stand myself enough on a good day.” He gives me an unimpressed look. “But you know what? You know what I’ve realized?” I go on, not tearing my gaze off his. “What?” “I like myself a whole lot better when I’m with you.”
