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“You never crush your cigarette on the ground or on an ashtray, you always use your fingers.” She grabs my fingertips and touches the burned scars there, “and judging by this, it’s been going on for years.”

“That’s not a habit that’s more of an observation from you.”

“You also touch the scar on your nose every time you’re focused on what I’m saying.”

“Still not a habit.”

“You also bite your lower lip whenever you finish taking a sip of your coffee.”

I pause for a second and tilt my head. “You’re paying attention to me.”

She looks up, forcing me to meet her eyes. “And so are you. Am I right Mister Caldwell?”

“I am. I find you quite fascinating.”

“You should be focusing on our mission next week.”

But I can’t focus on anything else anymore. I keep choosing her like it’s not slowly undoing me. The way she hides so much pain, thinking I don’t see it.

And I do. I feel it in ways that I don’t understand.

My mind begins to treat her like something already lost that must still be kept close, or else I’d die from her absence. And it is scaring me. More than anything, it terrifies me.

I can’t have her. But I can’t stop wanting to.

Her eyes are begging me to keep trying until she finally tells me what is hurting her that much. They’re begging me to never stop trying because all I can see in them is loneliness, like an ocean waiting for something to reach it, to break its stillness, to make it feel less alone, even for a moment.

I have never seen someone look so lonely while being surrounded by people who love her.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks to bring me back to this moment.

Unfortunately for me, about you…

I don’t think she understands how often I look at her and mourn all the tenderness she was denied.

“Why are your eyes so sad?”

She stops smiling at that moment, as if she’s scared again of what that would mean, is it judgement, is it worry? I think both are not reassuring to her.

“Why is it important?” She says softly.

“One day, you’ll understand how important it is to me.”

Her finger brushes my jaw and she sighs, “Don’t do that.”

“What are you scared of?” I ask before my tone turns serious. “You’re strong in so many ways, Mireya. Do you realize that?”

Her eyes turn to an invisible object in front of her before she talks again, “If you looked closely inside my soul, Damien, you’d find that all my strength was built from fear and pain.”

“If that is your foundation, I will make a home of it, let it ruin me,” I reply without thinking.

Her eyes turn back to me, confused at first, softening slowly as a smile appears on her lips, “I don’t want it to ruin you like it ruined me. You won’t survive it.”

I grab her hand in mine pulling her closer until her whole chest falls onto mine. She lets her head find comfort on my shoulder, as my arms encircle her, “Stop pushing me away, I won’t go anywhere.”

I hear her voice shaking, “We can’t cross the line.”

“I think we already crossed it, Mireya.”