CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Whitney
U nlocked.
There’s something about what just happened that I can’t put my finger on, but that’s how I feel, unlocked .
Like I’ve lived so much of my life guarded with a wall up and a padlock securing it that I’ve never opened myself up to the chance at anything.
Life is much easier that way. No one can leave then. No one can let you down. No one can disappoint you. No one can hurt you.
But I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who understands me like this. Two different worlds. Two different circumstances. One collective understanding of loneliness and abandonment.
Goodwill .
I’ve never told anyone that story before. Never had the inkling to. Until tonight. Until him ... and that’s telling me way more than any words or actions could.
I trust him when I shouldn’t. And not just because he stepped up to help me with the academy while I was sick, but because of the whole picture he’s letting me see of him—snapshot by snapshot.
I rest my cheek on the side of his head and wonder how this happened. The emotions rioting through me. The unexpectedness of the man when you dig deep enough. The want to share with him and the desire to sit right here the rest of the night.
“You need stuff here that’s you. That makes you happy.”
“I do have that. You’re here.”
No one comment has ever validated me as much at that one.
Unlocked is the correct sentiment, all right.
I just don’t know what to do about it.