⊰ 10 ⊱ Dancing with Fate: Part 2

As I stand before Marcel, behind the closed doors of the room I’ll be calling home for the next month, the tension between us weighs heavy, suffocating like that night, 6 years ago.

He had scooted closer to me after I’d wiped the tears from my face, and despite knowing that it was evident—with or without crying—that something was eating away at me inside, I wouldn’t look at him.

I wouldn’t dare to.

I was afraid that if I did, he’d see right through and break me in half, giving himself free reign into every thought and feeling that I had.

However, when the knuckle of his index finger found my chin, bringing my eyes to look into his, I didn’t feel like the world around me was collapsing or as if I was collapsing with it. Instead, I found comfort—a sense of safety.

“I want a girl like you,” he said softly. I furrowed my eyebrows, confused, but before I could mutter a sound, he explained, “Quiet, smart, cute enough to be pretty but not pretty enough to be sexy. Keeps to herself, stays out