"Sometimes when you would call and tell me about the stuff that's happened with him," he says, "I would just want to ask why you didn’t demand better.”
He draws lines from my wrists to my fingertips while I tell him that he makes me love myself more; that the more I’m around him, the more I like both of us because he extracts facets that I had trouble seeing, that things can be simple and complex at once.
“Well, you can do better than me,” I add. “Much better. Trust me.”
He shakes his head. “No, I can’t. I know that. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”
He holds up his palm, as if to say, don’t even try to deny it, and adds, “Really. You are.”
He stretches his neck towards me and I freeze.
I am afraid that he will kiss me.
I am afraid that he won’t kiss me.
But despite my fear, I lean forward.