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It takes a second for me to reply, having to work to hold in the chuckle that wants to respond to her inconceivable idea. She’s so incredibly wrong, but to her this is obviously a real concern, something big enough that it has her pushing through her embarrassment to talk to me about it.

“Well, it’s not true. I care about both inside and out because I care about everything that’s you,” I promise her. “Is this what’s been on your mind and had you distracted today?”

She inhales sharply, and the puff of air caresses the inside of my wrist. My thumb strokes along her jaw; I’m reluctant to relinquish my hold on her in case she retreats again.

“A little. It was also one of things my therapist talked to me about,” Rosy admits, and my heart sinks to know it’s being weighing on her that heavily she brought it up in her session. “I thought maybe it was the scars. Or maybe what he’d done.”

How can I still be failing this badly?

Is it just my inability to do the right thing, or is it the unchartered route we’re navigating with what Rosy went through?

I’d rather it be the first, and Rosy never had to go through any of that. It’s sadly not something I have the power to undo.

“Never. Nothing you went through has me seeing you any differently. No, that’s wrong.” I shake my head, wincing at her harsh intake of breath. “I do see you differently, but as someone who fought hard to make it out of what she went through. When I look at you, I’m in awe. Every. Single. Time.”

She sniffles, and a stray tear slips down her cheek. I lean in and kiss it away.

“Can you tell me a bit about what’s on your mind and how you’re feeling? Or maybe what it was you talked to your therapist about so I can understand?”

“I…I said it feels as if you’re holding back. That you’re worried I might break.” Her eyes flash to mine, the sheen in them bright, and I can’t lie to her. I can’t admit that it is how I feel, how we all feel.

It’s not that she might break, though. It’s that she’ll continue breaking to the point where she fractures completely and there ends up being too many pieces, and we won’t be able to piece them back together again.

I can’t say that to her, though.

I close the distance between us, still not letting go of her jaw as I cover her mouth with mine, drinking down the small, shocked gasp she releases.

“Every time I look at you, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you in my life,” I murmur, our lips brushing with each word.

“Pretty poor luck you have to end up with me,” she replies.

I slide my hands into her hair, cradling her head. “No, I meant what I said, and I’ll kiss the words into you if that’s what it takes.”

“It might take a lot of kissing. You know, to ensure they really stick.”

I smile. “I can definitely do that.”

Her hands fist my shirt, tugging me closer, and I wrap an arm around her lower back, then pull her into me. We don’t come up for air, somehow managing to fall into each other in a way that has us slotting together completely and perfectly.

FORTY

ROSY

Pressure around my neck strangles the sound of my cries, but I know not to scream. I know I need to behave, to be obedient and silent.

I don’t want to. I want to curl away and hide. To be left alone and not endure this anymore.

When will someone save me? Take me away from here and let me fall apart and disintegrate into nothing. That’s what I’m craving: the feeling of nothing.

Hands roam my body, but I’m utterly immobile. My limbs no longer belong to me. They don’t move for me anymore. He controls them.

He controls them, and I’m entirely helpless, a puppet without strings. No matter how much I push back I can’t seem to control anything.

I can’t make it stop.

I want it to stop.

Please, please make it stop.