I wish my brain would let me rest, but it keeps poking me from everydirection.
Caspian must think I’m unbalanced. I probably am. What in the worldmade me say I’m a Labubu? They aren’t even cute. They’re tiny, teeth-baring, oddly hostile creatures.
Madonna. I’m a Labubu.
I glance at Caspian and then quickly look away when he catches me.
He squeezes my hand.
I told him I hate him, and he’s still holding my hand.
I accused him of… well. Let’s not revisit that. He’s still saying I’m the one hewants.
That should be enough. It should be, but it isn’t.
Jake’s face flashes in my mind again—that smug, infuriating grin he waswearing when he said what he said.
The words lodge in my chest like splinters.
I try not to picture it, but I fail. Picturing it is basically the only thing I’mcapable of anymore.
I know it’s not Caspian’s fault that he has a past and I don’t. He wasn’t even aware of my existence when he had sex with Jake.
I know this in theory. In practice it hurts. It hurts so much.
I wish I could tell Caspian that my past involves a sex basement, but thatwould be a lie. Luca’s basement had a yoga mat, not a handcuffing corner.
If I told Caspian about the intense session of cat reels he would nod politelyand not lose his sleep.
My stomach flutters when I peek at him again. It always flutters when I’mnear him. Or when I think about him. He’s so tall and handsome and strong.
I wipe my eyes angrily. Maybe I’m too small for his preferences. He didbring up our height difference.
I halt. What if that was his attempt to break up with me and I didn’t realize?
Are we even together?
“Is everything alright?”
He gives my hand another gentle squeeze, and I can’t take it anymore.
“If you want to break up with me, can you say it out loud instead of squeezing my hand, because how am I supposed to know if it’s a loving squeeze or a Morse code that means ‘run along, small person’?”
Caspian stares at me. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Finally, he just pulls me into a hug.
“I don’t want to break up with you, sweetheart. And you can be one hundred percent sure that every squeeze is a loving squeeze.”
“Every squeeze?”
“Every squeeze. It can be meant to reassure you and to let you know I’m here and not going anywhere, but love is always included.”
“Okay. Good.”
We stay silent until we’re inside the car.
Before he starts the engine, he turns toward me. He looks concerned. His thumb brushes my cheek.
“What are you thinking about now?”
