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Luke
Twenty-four one thousand, twenty-five one thousand, twenty-six one thousand.
After this is stupid had drifted through my head a couple of times, I noticed Cassie had a freckle under her left eye, and some of the hairs in her eyebrows, full and dark, were lighter at the tips.
The freckle was a tiny island on the otherwise uninterrupted skin of her cheek.
It was strange that I probably could have gone the whole year of knowing her, being “married” to her, without seeing it.
I watched her blink and keep hold, and, goddammit, Frankie was right, maybe I grew a little more trust in her ability to stick with the whole situation. Not ability, I suppose, but desire to stick to it. I was thinking about earlier, about her being beautiful and breezing through every opportunity.
She was, but the way she was looking at me now, eyelids almost twitching with the effort of staying put, I could tell she hadn’t let that be the thing she used to get by. If her appearance was how she defined herself, she probably wouldn’t be here, at the back door. She’d be at the front door with whatever person she wanted.
Looking at her, though, erased every other possible life out of my mind. She was so unquestionably here.
