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 “Why do you think I react so badly when you hurt me? Why I run when I think you might do something to make me want to leave you? I’m scared because you can hurt me in ways no one has ever had the ability to do. And you don’t even need to touch me to do it. I act like an idiot because of how I feel about you!”

He just stands stock still and stares at me as though I have two heads, or he didn’t quite hear me correctly. Both of us feet apart, motionless and he just continues to lock those eyes on me for what seems like the longest time. Penetrating my skull as that clever brain ticks and turns over whatever he is thinking about. A return to deadpan, calm and still. Temper evaporating away to nothing. He reverts inside his own head and simmers to a deathly silence in the quietness of the room.

“Do you?” It’s soft, unsure, and I can almost taste the apprehension and fear in those two little words. The same fear from the