For a while, neither of us move. Our bodies are tangled, skin slick, hearts racing in sync. His weight is a comfort, the heat of him grounding me as the tremors fade into something softer, sweeter.
Eventually, he lifts his head, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, his eyes—always so carefully guarded—are wide open now, stripped bare. He brushes a thumb along my cheek, tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear.
“You,” he murmurs, voice still rough, “are a masterpiece.”
A slow, breathless laugh escapes me. “Takes one to know one.”
Alfie’s fingerstrace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. I should feel exposed, vulnerable after everything but something about the quiet way he touches me - like I’m precious but not fragile - makes me feel safe instead.
“What are you thinking about?” He presses a kiss to my temple.
“Just... how different this is.”
His hand stills on my skin. “Different how?”
I turn to face him, studying the firm set of his jaw, the softness in his dark eyes. “From what I expected. From what I’m used to.”
“Tell me?” It’s not a demand, just an invitation.
Maybe it’s the early hour making me brave, or the way his thumb still draws circles on my skin, or how he’s looking at me like whatever I say won’t change how he sees me. Whatever the reason, I talk.
“His name was Liam,” I begin. “Senior year of high school. He was everything I thought I wanted. Everything everyone else wanted for me. Smart, focused, had his whole future mapped out.”
“Sounds boring,” Alfie says, but his eyes are serious.
I laugh softly. “He was president of the debate team. Said I had so much potential, if only I could focus. Stop being so scattered.” I swallow hard. “Stop being some, basically. He said he was trying to help. Make me better. More driven.” I trace a pattern on Alfie’s chest, drawing invisible constellations between his freckles. My fingers tremble slightly, and I know he notices because his hand covers mine, steadying me. “At first it seemed sweet, you know? Like he really saw me, really wanted to help me succeed.”
I pause, memories flooding back - Liam’s smile, the way he’d correct my enthusiasm in front of our friends, how he’d squeeze my hand just a little too tight when I got ‘too excited’ about something. Warning me to calm down.
“He was so smooth about it. Would say things like ‘I just want you to reach your full potential’ or ‘You’re better than this, Tara.’ Made me feel like I was letting him down by being myself.” My voice catches. “God, I sound so stupid.”
“You don’t sound stupid,” Alfie says quietly. “You sound like someone who trusted the wrong person.”
I curl closer into his warmth, needing the anchor of his touch. “I was so caught up in trying to be what hewanted that I didn’t see what was happening. How he’d make these little comments about my interests being ‘cute’ but immature. How everything I loved became something that needed fixing. My clothes were too bright, my laugh was too loud, my interests were too scattered.”
“Tara...”
“It was homecoming night.” I make myself breathe. “I saw them outside the gym - Grace’s hand on Liam’s arm, this... intimacy in how they were talking. I justknew. Two years of dating, and I knew everything was different from that one touch.”
Alfie’s quiet, just letting me talk. His hand traces patterns on my skin like he’s trying to ground me in the present.
“She was mybest friend. But seeing them together, I was sort of relieved once the hurt had stopped. She’d always been a little mean to me, always made me feel like I was lucky for her friendship, and I felt free from him and his rules. The worst part wasn’t even catching them together. It was realizing how much of myself I’d erased trying to be what he wanted. I’d stopped wearing bright colors because he said they were ‘unprofessional.’ Quit art club because he said it was ‘directionless.’ God, I even made spreadsheets tracking my interests to make sure I had enough time for him.”
“Tara...” The way Alfie says my name makes me brave enough to continue. I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to tell Alfie. I need somebody to understand.
“Then in spring, I overheard Troy and Mom talking about Dad. About how they’d lied to me for years about where he was, what he was doing. They decided I was too ‘delicate’ to handle the truth about him leaving. They toldme he was networking, when really he was out sleeping with other women while his wife and kids were at home.” I laugh but it comes out bitter. “Everyone’s always trying to protect me, manage me. Liam did it by trying to fix me, my family did it by lying to me. When I confronted Liam, you know what he said? That I ‘wasn’t ready’ for a serious relationship. That he was ‘protecting me’ by not telling me about Grace earlier because I was too ‘emotionally fragile’ to handle it. Basically, the same thing my family used about Dad leaving - too fragile, too sensitive, needing to be protected from the truth.”
“It’s fucked up what they did, Tara,” he says.
“Yeah.”
They didn’t trust me, so now I can’t trust anyone else.
“And you’re worried I might try to next?” he asks.
I nod. I can’t fall for him. If I do, he might have sway over me, might start to change me.
I turn to face him fully. “I can’t letanyonehave that kind of power over me again. The power to decide what I can handle, what’s best for me. I need to stand on my own. We need to keep this…make believe.”
