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He stared at me. He looked more vulnerable than he ever had. I feared I had come too close. That he would lose his edge, his mind, in front of my eyes.

“I love you,” he told me. His voice was shaking. His hand was, too.

I realized he was saying goodbye, misunderstanding my choice.

“Cut them,” I whispered.

“What?” he muttered.

“Cut them,” I repeated, louder this time around. “Cut me up. Hurt me. Take it away from me. I don’t want it. I want you. I won’t dance.”

He stared at me.

“I choose you,” I said clearly. “Now fucking take it away.”

To be continued…

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