“You don’t have to—” “I do have to take care of you.” His words break me from my thoughts, the mental games of what ifs and assigning faults. My head moves to him, where he’s still staring at me, eyebrows together, confusion now covering his face. “I am going to take care of you, Lola.” I keep staring, confused. “And not just for right now.” I think I know what he means. In a way, it’s an answer to my question. The question of what will happen once this all settles and the excitement is over. Once his sense of misplaced duty settles and wears off. “Ben, seriously—” “You’re mine.” His words
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