68
He holds me like that, cradling my head and rubbing slow circles over my back, until I can breathe easily again. Under my ear, his heart beats a slow, steady thump. I whisper, “This isn’t right, what you’re doing. I’m a person, not a Kleenex.” His hand on my back falls still. “I’m aware that you’re not a Kleenex. What the hell does that even mean?” “It means that I have feelings. I’m not…” I suppress a sob. “I’m not something to be used and thrown away.” His body is completely frozen for a few seconds. Except for his heart, which has started pounding, every part of him is still. Then he rolls me onto my back, rises up on an elbow, and takes my face in his hand. His eyes blaze with emotion. His voice is urgent and rough. “I swear to you, I’m not using you. What would possibly make you
- Writer
