“I’ve had it my whole life,” I say. “It’s gotten better, but mix everything else into that, and it’s…”
“It feels like dying while breathing,” she croaks.
I nod as I squeeze her hand. She squeezes back. “It’s exactly like that,” I rasp. “Like I’m suffocating.”
“I know,” my sweetheart murmurs. “But you’re safe here, with me. I can help you untie that weight at your ankles, Rowan. I’ve got you.”
“And I’ve got you,” I whisper back, and kiss the top of her head. “Okay,” I say, “now you.”
Natalia sighs.“I feel guilty for wondering about my birth parents sometimes. I shouldn’t be wondering at all, really. But today… I don’t know. Today, for the first time in along time,I wondered why they didn’t want me. That’s why I went for a walk.”
“Natalia, I don’t think?—”
“I don’t know that they didn’t want me though,” she adds, sniffing and wiping her cheek. “I don’t know if it was because of circumstances of life, or lack of emotional stability, or uncertain financial stability. I don’t know any of that, and I know it’s not always that simple, but most of the time, my mind goes straight to assuming they didn’t want me.”
“I don’t know how anyone couldnotwant you, Natalia,” I say. “I can’t tell you what to think—I can’t tell you what is trueor not, but I can tell you how loved you are. Everyone in this goddamn town loves you, sweetheart. I?—”
“Don’t say it.” She breathes quickly. “Not today.”
“But you know.” I sigh, my chest weighed down with everything I feel for her—words I need to get off my chest so she can hear me say it. “You have to know.”
She lifts her shoulders just slightly. “I know.”
I run my fingers up and down her arm. I think about all of my wildest fantasies. How she’s made mewanta future. She makes me want to be a husband, a father. We’ll be happy, I know it. I’ll make her smile every day and I’ll love her until I die. Until the love I have for her is the only thing that kills me. And even then, I’ll come back to life just to love her again.
She might laugh if she could hear my thoughts—a cute little flustered giggle she’ll try to pass off as her calling me delusional, but we all know, she loves it. I love her, and she loves me, even if she has a hard time showing it. Even if she is unsure how to.
I bring her hand to my lips again and repeat those words to myself, writing the millions of promises on her skin with my whispers.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you know?”
I blink, brows furrowing.
“Do you know,” she says, “what I know?”
When it clicks, my heart settles.
“I know,” I whisper.She loves me.
“Good.” She sighs quietly.
The sheets rustle behind her as she slips out from under them, pulling on a sweater that fits her like a dress.
“Wait—where are you going?” I ask, grabbing onto her fingers.
She comes in close, eyes on eyes. “I’m going to take care of you now.”
I bring that same hand to my lips.My sweetheart.“Stay in bed then,” I say. “I only need that.”
She hums, “Uh huh,” and kisses the corner of my lips. “I can cook too,” she says. “I just don’t because you’re better at it.”
The sound of torrential rain fills the once silent moment, but my need for her—how badly I just need to hold her and lie with her in silence, to justexistbeside her, is louder than everything. And that kiss on the corner of my lips leaves an imprint on my skin.
“You make me feel better,” she whispers, her arms around my neck and fingers in my hair. “You make me feel like I’m getting better—like I can.”
