His eyes rolled close, and they stayed closed. “I’m fine. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“I’m okay.”
“I think what I have is DID, but I'm not sure. I've seen movies, read articles about people who suffer similarly to me. But I have nothing concrete because I've never spoken with a mental health doctor, aside from my father, who is the opposite of helpful. Things won't get better, not without help. Not for me. I’ve tried so hard. And the sad thing is, they wouldn't let Nessie suffer in the ways I've beenmade to.” A tear rolled from his eye, and I wiped it away with a gentle finger. “It’s not my only issue. There’s noise in my head, a voice that tells me to act in ways I don’t want to. I can ignore it most times, but I feel like it’s ripping me apart, and one of my alters, he doesn’t have any interest in fighting it. I have nightmares, stress, anxiety, depression, the occasional flashback, and hallucinations, apparently. My father calls me delusional, but to me, it’s real. And my feelings are valid.”
“They are. I have no idea how to help you, Woodrow. No idea which version. . .” I chose my words carefully and still believed I'd chosen wrong, but he didn't correct me. He didn't know the correct term, either, having never had a real professional assessment. “I'm not sure who you're more comfortable being, but I'll always try to support you. I'll be there for you. There to hold your hand in the present and in the future when we get you professional help.”
His hand moved from its resident position on his chest to his throat, to hide a heavy swallow. “Me. Woodrow. I want to be me, at least since you've been here. You make me wish I was normal. That we could have it all.”
“We can’t?” A piece of my heart crumbled away.
“That depends on how brave you’re feeling. You haven’t seen the worst.” He dragged my knuckles to his lips and placed a soft kiss there.
“I’m brave.” I was confident enough with all I’d been through to believe that.
“Braver than you know. Braver than anyone I know. You’ve had a terrible few weeks, and with all I’ve told you, you’re still at my side.” Relief covered him as he pulled his watch and the rosary beads from his wrists, making sure Jesus faced upwards as he placed them on his bedside table.
“Always.”
“If you always feel that way, we can have it all. I won’t allow my issues to interfere with my feelings for you.” His arm banded around me tightly. “But don't promise me a future that we won't have. It's cruel.”
“I need you. We'll be in each other's future. I can’t lose you. I promise your issues won’t ever come between us.”
I’d been forced upon him.Brought here to be his friend. But he’d become mine.
He’d become my everything.
My first and forever love.
“Can I have a kiss?” I asked, focusing on his mouth. Focusing on the smile lifting his perfect lips as he saw where my gaze had dropped.
“Older women are so forward.” He laughed.
I shoved at his chest in a playful way.
“I’m only a year older,” I reminded him.
“I love it.” He smiled again. “I’ve never dated an older chick before; never dated a younger one, either.” He found amusement in his own inexperience.
He moved to me, lips parting. His tongue entered my mouth in the most amazing way. I pulled at his arms, tugging him a little closer as I sucked on his lips—they were perfect, not as full as mine, but still full and perfectly shaped.
He broke off for a second, catching his breath. His throat was a hindrance to him, an eyesore to many, but neither to me. . . because I accepted him for all he was. Physically and mentally.
And he loved that.
I was already devouring his mouth the second it landed on mine. I enjoyed his taste—the minty freshness of his nightly routine.
“Fuck, you taste good.” His words came through the kiss, clearly feeling the same way.
His hands wandered, pulling me closer, pulling my leg up over his hip, pressing his growing hardness into my core.
My lace knickers grew moist where their fabric brushed the tenting in his sweats. His hands trailed my thigh, dropping to the inside. I was enjoying the kiss, but I wasn’t ready for more. Not yet.
“I’m not ready,” I said, pulling my body away before my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
I sat up in the bed, feeling like the tease I’d been called by my previous boyfriend—a senior, who had no interest in waiting.
“I’m sorry if you feel like I was leading you on. I liked the kiss, I just—”
