Chapter 6

He doesn’t. I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t say shit to me, either, to be honest.

Finally he zips up and comes over to use the sink beside mine. Quietly, I mutter, “I didn’t mean it.”

For a long moment he doesn’t speak. I’m almost afraid he won’t. I’m afraid he’ll simply ignore me as if I’m not even there. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he says, washing his hands.

I sigh, relieved. “Good. I—”

“It’s okay,” he continues, his voice soft. “I know you don’t think when you talk.”

That stings, but I guess I deserve it. “I’m sorry,” I say again. Before he can move away, I take his wet hand and raise it to my lips to kiss the damp knuckles. “I love you.”

He frowns at me in the mirror but doesn’t answer.

Damn him. Would it be so hard to say the words back? “Please. I said I was sorry.”

“I know.” But he squeezes my hand, and it’s enough that he’s talking to me again, isn’t it? It’s enough he doesn’t pull away.