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“Matthew, sweetheart.”
I shook my head adamantly. “No. That’s four. It’s supposed to be three.”
His thumb stroked over my cheek. “Princess.”
“I’m not a girl,” I uttered, still completely irritated even if that was one of the three names he called me.
“If you were, I wouldn’t want you in my lap.” The teasing tone coupled with his gentle hands made me look up.
His smile inspired one from me, and for a few heartbeats, we sat there smiling at each other. He was really beautiful. So many things I would never be. I felt like a moth drawn toward a flame. Even knowing how dangerous he was, I couldn’t force myself away, too riveted by his warmth.
“I know you aren’t a girl,” he murmured, stroking my cheek again. “But there’s something so precious about you. Something so valuable. And even though you’re like six feet tall and cut with muscle, there’s also fragility. It makes me want to take care of you.”
I wanted to be angry that he called me fragile. I wanted to argue and deny. But deep down, I knew he was right. And deep down, it was sort of nice that someone saw it… that they didn’t seem put off by it.
“That doesn’t, ah, turn you off?”
The sound he made was so like amusement that I had to look up to see if I’d heard right. His onyx eyes were sparkling with emotion that made butterflies flutter in my stomach. “Princess, there is not one thing about you that turns me off.”
I slid back into his lap, turning again so I was facing away from him but with my cheek on his shoulder. A lump formed in my throat when he wrapped his arm around me and positioned his wrist so I had access to the bracelets.
“So tinnitus. That’s ringing in the ears, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s pretty much constant, but sometimes it’s less noticeable.”
“Like when you’re wearing AirPods and listening to ASMR?”
“Or music. I only listen to ASMR when I’m anxious or overstimulated.”
“What’s your favorite song?”
This conversation was unlike others because it was just that, a conversation. I was telling him the reasons I was so unfitting, but it wasn’t the only dialogue. It was just part of something bigger… something that felt a lot like him trying to know me. As if my favorite song was just as important as my disabilities. Like he didn’t define me just by that one thing.
It overwhelmed me so much that I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
He waited a while, then said, “Can’t say I have a favorite. Not an original anyway. I’m kinda obsessed with mixing tracks to make something new.”
“It gets worse,” I said. “The ringing when I’m stressed out.”
“Are you stressed out right now?”
“I should be.”
“But you aren’t?”
I didn’t answer that either, instead finding myself tangling my fingers in his bracelets and rubbing my thumb against the concave metal coin.
“So misophonia triggers an abnormal response to certain sounds. What’s the response for you?”
“Anger,” I replied. “Fight-or-flight basically takes over, and I cannot sit still. I feel like I have to get away. A lot of times, I can’t get away, and that’s where the fight comes in…”
“Ah, like when you clobbered that cop.”
“I used to get in so many fights,” I confessed, counting the bracelets by threes. “I got in trouble a lot. Probably would have ended up in juvie if it weren’t for Ben.”
“Ben…”
“Kruger.”
