And I did it again.
My hands were on his chest now…feeling him through the thin fabric of his shirt, fingers curled to pull him closer. And Forrest didn’t push me away, didn’t stop me—he kissed me back hard, and I let out this breathy exhale, and he swallowed it whole. I swept my tongue out and he…he let me. God, he let me, it felt so good, I needed him, needed him naked, needed him inside?—
He pushed me away.
“We can’t, Willa,” he said. “God…I’m such a bastard?—”
“You’re not,” I breathed. “I want this. I wantyou.”
“I know you do.” His voice was rough. He was still close, close enough that I could feel the heat off him, and his hands were on my waist and hadn’t moved. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“You’ve only been free for a week,” he said. “Oneweek. I’m the first man you saw outside and…I hate it, but I’m the first person who’s beenkindto you, Willa.”
“So?”
“So you should have higher standards than the bare minimum of being kind and making you feel safe.”
It hurt. It hurt, it did, but he was right. He wasright.
I stood up, staggering to my feet and back.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I—this was—I’m so embarrassed.”
He was on his feet too, shaking his head. “Willa, you don’t have to be embarrassed?—”
“But you didn’t—” I bit my lip. “I’m not her. I know. And it’s not fair to…to put all my expectations on you. I know.”
He went very still.
"What did you just say?"
"I'm not Sophie," I said. "I know that. And it's not fair of me to?—"
"That's not—" He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "Willa, that's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?"
"It's about you." His voice had an edge to it now, not angry at me, something else—frustrated with himself, maybe. "It's about the fact that you've been through something that would break most people and you've been here a week and you're still—" He stopped again. "You deserve more than someone who's been half-dead for three years and doesn't know how to?—"
“I’m going to bed,” I interrupted. “I’m…we should…we can talk in the morning.”
“Willa—”
“It’s okay,” I said, breathing hard. “I’m sorry. I’m—good night.”
I didn't wait for him to answer.
I went down the hall. Shut the bedroom door. Slid the deadbolt home.
Then I stood there in the dark with my back against it and my hand still on the lock and tried to remember how to breathe normally.
Nickel materialized from somewhere and pressed her nose to my knee. I didn’t even know she’d followed me.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor and she climbed half into my lap, too big for it, not caring, and I put both arms around her and pressed my face into the top of her head.
