They Hate Each Other

by Amanda Woody

He squeezes my arm tighter, like he’s trying to crush it. Tragically for him, he’s got the strength of a strawberry.

“Hey.” He fans his hand across my cheek, angling my face, forcing us to lock eyes. His are calm. Focused. “What do you need?”

My life isn’t perfect. It never has been.

“Sorry you’ve had to deal with people who run away, rather than try to help you through your attacks,” he murmurs.

At first, Jonah is quiet. Then, slowly, “I’ll run through it again. Just focus on my voice.” He can tell. Just by the way I’m speaking.

But his predictable inhales and exhales are soothing in this weird, ASMR-type way. I’ll never tell him. I fall asleep to his breathing.

But the last thing I want to do is upset him again when he’s clearly in a fragile state.

“I need help.”

“I can’t do this anymore,”

My stomach flutters, then sinks with a final, burning realization that drives my face down into my palms. “Kiss me again,” I whisper.

The reason you’re so cold all the time is because you’re always giving everybody your warmth. You’re like this fireplace that makes everyone comfortable and cozy.”

I tug Jonah along the edge of the car and hoist him up onto the hood. I lean in, so our noses are grazing. His breath is short and warm against me. “Kiss me,” he whispers. Oh Lord, do I kiss him.

If it keeps his face like that, they can talk trash all they want. “George said your butt is flatter than the state of Kansas,” he tells me. Fuck George, though.