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“I don’t want you to be sad,” I barely whisper now.
He tries to joke, “Well, I’m not only sad. I’m furious, too. That make you feel any better?”
I can’t hide how very much it actually does. As tired as I am of crying—and even though Ijust got donecrying—I’m threatened by it again because here’s that validation again. Here he is, siding with me again.
I press my trembling lips together hard until I’ve forced just enough composure on myself to say, “Yes, it makes me feel better that you care that much.”
He breathes deeply and then presses another, harder kiss to my face—my forehead this time.
So nice. So, so nice.
After it’s over, he replies lowly, “Believe me, there’s no part of this that doesn’t make me want to destroy somebody.”
I do believe him. And God knows I wish hecoulddestroy those demons.
His arms are in plain sight because his hands are still on my neck and cheek, so I let my eyes drift over them. They’re mostly covered by long sleeves, but I know exactly how strong those muscles are.
I mumble, “I bet you could do it with your bare hands.” I’m unable to stop my fingers from touching his inked forearms, which are visible from his pushed-up sleeves.
Chill bumps on his skin.
Solemnity in his voice: “Yeah, I could.”
Protectiveness is in there, too. And tenderness, somehow. I think it’s one of the most beautiful tones I’ve ever heard.
When I look at him straight again, he adds, “Thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me. Please say you know you can tell me anything that ever crosses your mind, no matter how ugly it is.”
I nod. “I know I can.”
He nods, too.
Then, both more softly and more intently, he says, “Do you also know it’s not too late to tell other people about this? Not too late for you to get some—some—” now he shakes his head, “—I don’t want to say‘real help’because I know I help you in my own way, and I swear I’ll always do everything I can for you, but…I might not be enough.” He closes his hands around my shoulders. “Do you know there are counselors and groups of people who understand you in ways I can’t?”
My nod is reluctant this time.
Of course I know those people are out there, but…well, I onlyjust nowgot up the courage….
He goes on perceptively. “This is not me rushing you, Liv, or trying to boss you around. I don’t know what you need at this point. I don’t know how much more time you need before you’re able to talk about it with other people. I just want to be sure you know that if you ever feel like I’m not enough, it’s okay and we can get you more help.”
His words, his expression, his clear sincerity and goodness all fill me with the quietest sense of peace.
Once again, my nod is certain. “You can be sure I know it,” I promise him.
“Good.” He studies me for a long couple of seconds, then sighs and gives my shoulders a light squeeze. “What do you need from me now?”
‘I would do anything for you.’
“More listening?” he suggests. “Space? Something to eat or drink?”
Feeling much less distraught and much more exhausted, I tell him the truth: “I just want to be around you.” Then I shrug and say also truthfully, “But I’ll be okay if you can’t stay.”
“I can,” he says without pause.
He watches his hands go down my arms and brush along my fingers.
As they leave me, he looks at me again. “I want to be around you, too.”
Now feeling slightly stupid—and suspicious—I check, “Not just because I brought it up, right? Idon’tneed you to pretend to…whatever.”
