Page 56 of Dallas

“You didn’thitmy head.”

“Regardless,” I say. “I was being a little bit over the top.”

“We both were,” he says.

We stand there and look at each other, and my heart throbs.

We’re both just so messed up.

He means more to me than anyone else in the entire world, and I almost ruined everything. And he pretty much did the same in return. Neither of us knows how to act. Neither knows what to do with big feelings and big moments.

And that’s with all this caring and between us.

No wonder I have so much trouble making friends. My rabid self takes over.

The wrong thing happens, and I just want to shove snarl and growl and froth at the mouth until everyone leaves me alone.

I want to protect myself.

What he said was messed up, and he knows why, but I didn’t have to react that way. I know him. I’m willing to forgive him for it, so I also didn’t need to completely lose itlast night. We don’t really trust each other, because we don’t trust ourselves, I guess. It’s exhausting. To live in this traumatized body that’s constantly vacillating between fight or flight.

It’s exhausting to be me sometimes, and that is a pretty whiny thought to have before ten AM the day after my birthday.

But here I am. Having it.

“Do you want the present?” he asks.

I blink. “What?”

“I have the present still. If you wanted.”

“Of course I want it,” I mutter.

Only a psycho wouldn’t want their birthday present, even after all that.

He nods and leaves the room. I wonder if he’s going to come back with a shirt on, as I sit there and examine the muscles on his back, the way they move as he retreats. He returns, still bare-chested, holding that box. It looks no worse for wear after what happened last night. It’s faring better than me, basically.

He reaches out and hands it to me. I swallow hard as I begin to work the ribbon through the loops. I slide it off slowly, then take the lid off. Inside is a wide, flat black velvet box.

I’ve never gotten anything in a box like this, and I’m not exactly sure what it is. I lift it out, and open it up, and my breath catches. It’s a necklace. Not just any necklace, but one from Sammy’s store. White gold with rose gold woven in to make blossoms on the ornate chain. I also know exactly how much it cost. It’s an original piece, made by hand, as everything she does is. One-of-a-kind.

I could pay my whole year’s rent with this.

“I…”

I look up, and he’s staring at me with intensity that makes my breath catch.

“I don’t know what to say,” is the only thing I can force through my tightened throat.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says.

“Turn around.”

I obey him, as he slips the box out of my hand, and sets it down on the kitchen table. I take in a jagged breath, and I feel his heat behind me. His large hand wraps around my hair, sweeps it over my shoulder, fingertips brushing the back of my neck. I shiver. And my heart begins to beat faster. I don’t move, but I hear him touching the necklace, the box. The slight clinking of the jewelry as he undoes the clasp. Then he brings it around to the front of my body, the chain settling on my skin as he works to close the clasp. A long piece of chain dangles down the back, and he runs his finger along the length, letting it settle against my skin link by link, making me shiver. He’s still close to me, hasn’t moved.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

“You haven’t even seen it yet.” My voice is a whisper. I can barely make it work. My throat is so tight I can hardly breathe.

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