All because he treated me like a human and made me love myself more than I hated myself.

“Your skin’s so soft,” Ambrose mumbles against my neck. “I hope it doesn’t sound creepy that I want to lick my way down your neck just to feel your heated skin against my tongue.”

I laugh.

“Saying it out loud was so much worse than in my head,” He chuckles against my neck. “But no takebacks.”

“Promise?” I ask.

“Forever,” he responds as if it’s simple, as if forever is something he can promise, and I believed him.

I fell asleep in his arms that night for the last time.

I shake my head and suck in the tears and nearly run into another locker; the door shuts quickly.

“Hey, stranger.” Quinn winks at me. “Were you looking for a super-hot nerd with a Star Wars fantasy? Because if so, I’m your guy.” He’s wearing an Obi-Won vintage black and white shirt like the ones I’ve seen in the guy section of expensive department stores, and his hair’s pulled into a man bun that has him looking weirdly sexy.

He smells good too.

I sidestep him; I don’t want anyone to see the tears. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

I swallow slowly and move to the right.

He follows.

I swerve to the left.

Same.

“Wait.” Quinn reaches for me.

It’s the first time someone’s touched me since the accident, I mean, really touched me in a way where you know they’re concerned.

Tears burn the back of my eyes.

I almost forgot what it felt like, the warmth from someone’s hand on my skin. It’s unfair, but I tell myself it’s okay, that I don’t need it.

I’ve only ever needed me, right? Who else can a person depend on anyway?

I slowly pull away, only to have him grab my wrist this time, then my hand. “Are you okay?”

It’s the absolute worst thing you can ask someone who’s just gone through trauma or, in my case, a lifetime of it.

My lips part; I’ve rehearsed this answer perfectly; I get asked dumb questions a lot. Nothing comes out right away. I try, I try so hard my throat hurts, but I have nothing but air coming into my lungs.

In and out.

It’s okay. Just breathe.

“Hey.” He pulls me closer to him until all I can smell is his vanilla scented cologne; he presses my face against his chest.

I exhale.

Once. Twice.

“There you go,” he whispers in that deep voice of his. “It’s not okay right now, obviously, but it will be because what other option do we have but to breathe, and take it all in, even when things need to come out—which they always do. You still have to breathe, Mary-Belle.”

A solitary tear slides down my cheek.

I don’t know if he can feel it on his arm.

I don’t ask.

And I’m so afraid to relax against him, to trust a relative stranger with a Star Wars fantasy who’s suddenly in my universe when I’ve done everything in my power to make sure it’s a one-person show since the incident.