“Too bad,” she says, voice trembling, “I already chose you.”
And just like that, I feel everything: grief, love, guilt, all crashing together until I can barely breathe.
If only my throat would open up, I would tell her how much I love her as well.
How I chose her too.
How there’s no one else out there for me.
How she has my whole entire life in the palm of her hand.
How hard it isnot tostand beside her every day.
But I can’t.
So I just stand there, watching her cry, knowing that even after everything, she still looks at me like I’m something worth saving.
She turns like she’s about to leave, and you can call me a selfish, evil man, but I don’t care.
Because I will be anything for her.
My hand moves before my brain does. I catch her wrist.
“Tilly,” I choke out.
She freezes.
Her pulse is fluttering beneath my fingers, wild and uneven, and when she looks back at me, there are tears balanced on her lashes like they are waiting for permission to fall.
Something in me just breaks.
I pull her into me.
Hard.
Like I’m trying to make up for every moment.
Her body hits my chest with a soft gasp, and then she melts completely.
Her face buried in my neck, her hands fisting in my shirt like she’s scared I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until I feel her breath hitch against my skin.
It all comes pouring out. Every held-back word, every sleepless night, every stupid attempt at pretending I don’t care.
My throat burns, my chest aches, and I hold her tighter, like maybe if I do, I can stop time.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair, voice wrecked. “I’m so damn sorry.”
She doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she just clings to me, and I feel her tears soak through my shirt, and I feel sick with them.
She hates crying, especially in front of people.
As much as I tried to tell her that tears are normal, she just doesn’t listen.
I’m not sure exactly what it is with her hate for tears, but what I know for sure is that I hate whatever goes through her head when they fall.
