“She thinks I hurt you,” he says quietly.
When he doesn’t say anything else, I know he wants me to respond. I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.
“Why does she think that?” he asks.
I whisper, “I don’t know.”
“DoI hurt you?” The edge in his voice dares me to reply.
I shake my head but a voice inside me whispers, If he doesn’t hurt you, then why are you crying? I don’t know, and I don’t want to answer that. Right now I don’t want anything more than for him to hold me.
But he isn’t making this easy. I feel the weight of his gaze like the world on my shoulders, pushing me down. Finally, I admit, “I don’t like sleeping without you. That hurts.”
“That hurts me, too,” he says.
I sob again before I can bite back the sound. The tears are hot beneath my fingers as I hold my eyes shut. He loves me. He does.I hear it so clearly in his words.
“You don’t know when to stop,” he says. I nod, yes, that’s true. “You don’t know when to shut up—”