Chapter 12 #2
“Why would I believe you?” The volume of his voice increased and the steam was too thick in the air now, making me lightheaded. My pulse beat hard in my throat. He looked furious with me for daring to do something as simple as care about him, angry that I existed at all.
“You told me you’ve been lying to me!” I tried to be louder, to keep the tremor from my voice, but it was impossible. “Why would I believe you?”
“Because you don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, I do,” I protested weakly.
His hand finally slid off my jaw, his fingers wrapping around my throat instead—not tight enough to restrict my air, but enough to make my head feel fuzzier than it already was. I held the edge of the sink to keep myself upright.
“I gave you your opportunity to back out of this, and you didn’t take it. You’re mine, and that doesn’t change for anything.”
It doesn’t change for anything, even if it hurts us both.
Especially if it hurts us both.
I didn’t want to think about Mason now, but I was.
It was difficult for me to make any comparison between him and Micah because they were so similar—but with such vital and distinctive differences that they almost didn’t feel similar at all.
They both had their darkness, but in different shades.
Their hurt destabilized me in different ways.
I couldn’t find my footing.
I hadn’t been able to for months.
My entire life is a ticking time-bomb, and there’s nothing I can do to brace for the devastation that will ensue once everything inevitably explodes.
“I know,” I whispered, unsure if he’d even be able to hear me over the sound of the water pummeling the tiles. “I don’t want it to change.”
His gaze fell to my mouth and his expression softened, near-imperceptibly.
He blinked slowly and it made me want to cry because I wished I knew what he was thinking, even if it ruined me.
“You’re very hard to read,” I said even quieter than before.
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry.” My voice caught on the word and Micah’s eyes flicked upward, locking onto mine and penetrating straight through to my soul.
“I know you are.” He moved his hand to brush his thumb over my lower lip, then up across my cheekbone, touching me gently. How long will this gentleness last? “But I know you’re not going to stop, so I can’t stop either.”
The fact that I couldn’t argue with him about this assumption felt like a vise on my lungs. My oldest companion—my shame. I can never stop doing the wrong thing. Why can I never stop?
“What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. We’ll figure something out.” He traced the baby hairs around my face that were too short to stay in my bun.
“Nothing’s going to be over, right?”
“I just told you nothing was ever going to be over, Dakota. You have these misconceptions about yourself and how you think I feel about you. I feel more than you know.”
“But will you ever be honest with me? Can you be honest?” A sad, fearfully-hopeful feeling tugged in my chest.
“Ask me something right now and I’ll answer honestly.”
“Why do you even like me?” I blurted out before I could stop myself or think of a smarter question. I didn’t want to waste his honesty, but this insecurity was integral to my nature. “I still can’t figure out why you chose me, or how this happened between us. You say things, but I don’t know.”
“That’s a big question.” Micah took a deep breath. I was still on edge, but less so with each passing minute, with each steadying touch from him. Whatever I’d done, however I’d hurt him, was being put away for now. The door I’d never meant to open was slowly closing.
Or at least, that’s what I believed was happening. That’s what I hoped.
“But I promised you an answer,” Micah continued.
“Yes, you did. But I don’t care, just—just say whatever comes to your mind first, or—”
“Hey,” Micah cut me off, holding my face with two hands, tilting my head back as he stepped forward so I was looking up at him. “I’m not at a loss for words here. I have many, many words I could say about you, but you need to let me speak. Okay?”
“Okay,” I breathed.
“Okay,” he echoed. “I like the way you think about things. All the time, I wish I could grade your exams from other classes because I just fucking love seeing your brain on paper like that.”
His eyes switched back and forth between mine, seeking out all my hidden places.
I had a lump in my throat already.
“Your work in the margins, your neat handwriting, the way you fold the paper at the staple,” Micah continued.
“From your first lab report, it was very apparent to me which sections you did. Your group is smart—I won’t discredit them—but there’s a thoughtfulness in the way you write.
You’re very purposeful with your words. The way you structure your sentences makes me want to steal your journal so I can see everything you write in there, see what words you choose when you’re not constrained by an engineering assignment. ”
There was a pause and I opened my mouth, maybe to say something, but Micah wasn’t done talking.