“Yeah, I’ve known what that’s like,” I rasp. “But not right now.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “No. I know exactly what to do and how to react. I’ve known what I wanted for a long time, so it makes perfect sense to me.Youmake perfect sense to me, even if I don’t make perfect sense to you.”
“I never said that.”
“Do I then?”
Her fingers brush up my shoulders to the nape of my neck and into my hair. Her nod is short, barely there, but it’s a nod. I love that nod as much as I love this girl.
“See?” I smile. “Perfectly sensical.”
“Not entirely but…” There’s a lift of her shoulder.
“What’s going on in your head, sweetheart?”
She huffs. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes I do.” I pull her hips forward until she lifts a leg, then the other, and she’s straddling my thighs. “I always want to know.”
With a soft sigh, and her fingers still in my hair, she whispers, “I don’t think I make sense with you, but maybe you make sense with me. And maybe one day you’ll hate me, resentme, I don’t know. Like, what if you realize how shitty I really am? How badly I’ve treated you until now? And I can say sorry a million times but that doesn’t make any of it better—it doesn’t makemebetter. But I was so, so mean, Rowan.” Her voice cracks and her forehead falls to min, her chest glued to mine. “I’m sorry.” She kisses my lips, the salt of her tears slipping into my mouth. “I’m sorry.” She kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’m sorry.” The other corner. “I’m sorry, Rowan.” She sniffles and kisses my cheek before brushing her nose over my skin. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be.”
“I do.” She kisses my cheek again. “Forgive me, please.”
“I forgive you.”
“Rowan?”
“Sweetheart.”
“I really hated myself,” she croaks. “And I think the way you love me made me hate myself more because, in my head, there’s no way you could possibly love me. Because there’s a voice telling me that I don’t deserve it—that I’m not worthy and there’s nothing about me you could love. And because every time you look at me the way you do, my mind points out all of my insecurities.”
Even with a broken heart, I rasp, “It lies to you.” I pull back enough to look into those beautiful eyes that break and heal me all the same, and I wipe the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Nothing I say can heal you, I know that. Not me telling you how worthy you are or how much I love you or how beautiful you are. That all has to come from you.”
She frowns. “I know.”
“But, sweetheart,” I whisper, holding her face in my hands, “I’m here to help you. I might not be able to do the healing for you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be here.”
“I just need you to be patient with me,” Natalia croaks. “I haven’t… I’m not used to this. I haven’t been in a relationship in almost two years, Rowan, there’s a good chance I’ll mess this up.”
“You won’t mess this up.”
“I already have,” she says. “Multiple times.”
I shrug. “Those were flukes.”
Natalia snorts, rolling her eyes. “They weren’t. I haven’t been the best at handling myself and my emotions. They crash right into me and it’s fight or flight—I don’t always pick the right one.”
“But you’re working on it,” I say.
“Don’t do that. Don’t sound positive and make excuses for my toxic behavior. What I did was gross and disgusting and ugly. I hate myself for it, but yes, I’m working on it. ”
“Stop that,” I murmur. “Don’t do that.”
“Youdon’t do that, Rowan,” she insists. “Why can’t you let me just be angry with myself?”
