She bites her lip, but her chin still trembles, and it’s like a punch to my gut.
“You’re not damaged,” I whisper.
“I have so much baggage, I don’t know what to even do with it,” she croaks. “I’m not… I’m too much.”
“And I don’t have baggage?” I counter without meaning to. My frustration is bubbling over into my words, and I wish I could immediately take it back.
I don’t want to be frustrated, but I am. She doesn’t realize just how alike we really are, but that’s not her fault. It’s mine. It’s not like I’ve spilled my guts to her about all ofmyemotional baggage…Trauma. How could she know both of us were hurt deeply in ways that were irreparable?
Her eyebrows furrow as a single stray tear falls down her cheek.
Crap. Shit. No.
My words are gentle as I speak, because I definitely don’t want to make her cry. I don’t want to upset her at all. “Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t have baggage. Mine just looks a little different than yours.”
Her head drops almost to her chest, and she squeezes herself tighter before lifting her arm to wipe her face with her sleeve.
“You haven’t once asked me howIfeel.”
“How do you feel?” she asks weakly, lifting her head to look at me. Except she doesn’t look upset as much as she looks surprised now.
I’m surprised at myself, too.
“I feel like…people doing bad things to you is not a reflection of your character. Youarenice. Youarenormal. Your emotions m-may feel like too much, but that doesn’t meanyouare.”
Her shoulders sag at that. “He tore me down. He shattered me. I’ve been trying so hard to put myself back together again,but I don’t know if I’ll ever be who I used to be. I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix myself again.”
“I don’t know that version of you,” I tell her, taking a step toward her, “but I do know you now, and I don’t see anything wrong with that girl. I…likethat girl.”
With a small sniffle, she sighs heavily, her arms dropping to her sides. For a second, it looks like she wants to argue further with me, refuse to accept my words, but instead, she gives up and takes a small step toward me. Then another. And another. Until she’s pushing up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around my neck in a tight hug.
I don’t hesitate to wrap mine around her waist, burying my face in the crook of her neck and breathing her in. She fits so perfectly in my arms, molded against me like a missing puzzle piece.
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak,” she mumbles in my ear.
I laugh softly, relaxing when I hear her laugh, too.
“Thank you,” she whispers after a moment, still hugging me.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
We hug for a few more moments, my thumbs sliding back and forth on her back as I continue to hold her, our chests heaving breaths in the same in-sync rhythm. She pulls back after a few more beats, gazing up at me with a tiny grin.
“Today might be crazy,” she says. “Will that be okay?”
“Of course.” I nod.
She cocks her head up at me, looking at me thoughtfully. “If you get overwhelmed or need a break, just give me a look.”
I understand why she thinks that her big, intimidating family will be too much for me on Christmas, because her brothers did try to exert that protectiveness over her last night at dinner, but I’m happy to be spending it with other people for once. I wantto see what Christmas is like when you’re a family. Not just the stuff on TV and in movies, I want to see the real thing.
“What kind of look?” I ask, raising a brow faintly down at her.
She hums in thought. “Just stare at me for, like, ten seconds. I’ll know something is up, for sure. You never do that.”
“Ten seconds,” I laugh, “got it.”
