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I clear my throat, not trusting my voice to reply to that. I’m going to need a better truck if I plan on road-tripping out to New York to visit her. My old rust-bucket truck isn’t gonna make it there in one piece.

“My parents gave my old room to my little sister. She was born after I was taken.” She stares into her tea. She hasn’t talked about her family much, and I haven’t pried, so I’m surprised she’s bringing them up.

“How does that make you feel?”

“Replaced.” My heart wrenches for her. “And jealous.”

“Totally understandable feelings.” Sometimes I’m her friend. Other times I’m her therapist. She takes on those same roles with me.

I want more than that with her, though. I want to taste her lips, stare into her eyes, wrap my hands around her tiny waist…

“They told my little sister I was dead,” she continues. “And now that I’m not dead, they’re all awkward when I visit. It’s like they don’t want me there. I can feel it. I make them uncomfortable. I think they think I’m dirty. They barely even talk to me or look at me.”

“People can be assholes when they have no idea how to deal with their feelings. It’s not you. It’s them.”Yes, listen to the poster child of how not to deal with your fucked-up feelings.

She grips her mug tighter and gazes out the window. “You’re the only one who seems to understand. My doctor listens… but she’s paid to. And Feather—she understands, but her situation is different. Nobody really knows what happened to her. It wasn’t made public like what happened to me. Her outsides are normal. She’s beautiful. People only know what happened to her if she tells them.” She licks her lips nervously. “I kinda envy that about her.”

“You’re beautiful on the outsideandthe inside, Holly.” Honestly, she’s not just beautiful—she’s fucking breathtaking, adorable, and sexy. If we weren’t two majorly fucked-up people, full of scars and rampant dysfunction, I’d be going out of my mind trying to get her to go out with me.

Her cheeks flush at my compliment, and her eyes shift back down to her teacup. “I feel like I’m made out of glass and everyone can see… everything. Like I’m a big gaping window. They know… what that man did to me. I want to just forget it. But it’s hard when people look at me a certain way, and then bring it all up, like they have the right to ask me questions.”

“Just rememberyoudidn’t do those things. Those things were donetoyou.”

“I know, but…”

“I know it’s hard. People can fucking suck. They do it to me, too. They think my scars will jump onto their own skin and make them ugly. They cringe when they hear me talk. They call me a murderer, a monster, a freak.”

Her eyes squint closed as if each word I say hurts her. “Oh my God. You’re not any of those things! How do you deal with that?” Compassion strains her voice.

“I fuckin’ don’t anymore. Everything I need is right here. Everyone can fuck off.”

“But… what if you want to go out… like shopping or to dinner?”

“I’m a vegetarian. I don’t go out to eat. I make my own food.”

“So you really don’t go out at all?” she asks, her mystical eyes widening.

“Nope.” I shrug. “Unless it’s dark out and I don’t have to interact with judgmental douchebags. I’m over it. Most things I need I can have delivered, or one of my brothers will bring it to me. I ride my bike at night, that’s my escape outta here if I feel stir-crazy. But I like it here in my little fucking bubble.”

She nods in slow agreement. “I’ve never told anyone this,” she whispers. “But sometimes… I feel like being locked away was easier. I didn’t have to make decisions or try to fit in. I knew what I was dealing with, if that makes sense?”

I nod and take another sip of my tea.

“Out here in the world, I have no idea what people want, how they’re going to act, what they want from me. Being free is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

I clear my throat. “I get what you’re saying, sugar. You just have to find your groove.”

“What about you? Is this your groove, or are you still trying to find yours, too?”

I love how she’s not afraid to ask me questions. And I love how she listens to me so intently, absorbing everything I say like a sponge.

I let out a sigh, lean back in the couch, and put my foot up on my coffee table. “I think this is mostly my groove. Most days, I’m content. I can live with the choices I’ve made. That’s what I need the most—peace of mind.”

“But are you happy? Because you don’t seem very happy to me.”

Me? Happy?“I kinda forgot about being happy and just wanted to find peace. But… I’m happy when you’re here with me. You wanted to make me smile, and you do. That’s not an easy feat.” Iwink at her from behind my cup, because I like the way it makes her eyes twinkle. She’s a hard one to read—sometimes she trembles and her eyes go dark with terror if I stand too close or touch her in a casual way, and other times she looks at me like she’s totally ga-ga over me. Without knowing it, she twists me all up, oblivious to the way her fear knocks on the door of my hidden desires, and her sweetness melts the ice around my heart and lulls the voices in my head.

Not for the first time, I wonder if I do the same for her.

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