“My brain is broken. It’s not my body. It’s my brain.” “I’m sorry?” “It never stops.” She pauses, but I don’t fill the silence. This is an interesting development. “Does your brain stop?” she asks, looking at me. This is the slowest elevator on the planet, so I have time. I turn her to me, pressing her chest to mine, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Yeah, my brain stops.” Especially when you’re around, it seems. “Is it ever quiet in there?” she asks, reaching up and tapping my head. “Yeah, kitten. My mind gets quiet. Yours doesn’t?” “Never.” The word is a whisper. A quiet, embarrassed term.
...more
