He helped me put on one of his shirts as if I were a child. Maybe I am a child, in a grown woman's body. I sit on our bed, shame flooding through me. How can I act l like this?
"It's alright, you know."
I shake my head. Taking things into his own hands, making it look like he's the bad guy. I dare to raise my eyes to meet his. He looks at me, making sure I'm not going to run away like I did earlier. I shake my head again, telling him I wasn't leaving again. That had been a rash decision on my part, and I'm not proud of it.
Aren't I allowed to be rash in this situation? Am I not entitled to some freaking out?
I had gone to a friend, a trusted confidant. Had he betrayed me?
Tears sting my eyes, as I think of all the selfish things I had done to the boy who stares at me now. No, boy isn't right. Man. Yes, he's a man. A man who hurts himself by staying with me. A tear threatens to leak.
I love him, I do. But can I learn to love another?
My eyes drop, the shame too great.
He drops to his knees, silently begging for me to come back to him. I debate it, wondering if it was possible for me to hurt him any more than I had. Deciding that I hadn't, I crumpled onto him.
We fell onto the floor, wrapped in each other's arms. The tears flow freely now.
"I'm terrified," I whisper.
"Me, too," he admits. "But we can do this. We did survive two Hunger Games, after all."
May the odds be ever in our favor.