hi there. before you read this story i want you to know something: this character and her experiences (sans supernatural boyfriend and cross-country move to mysterious small town) are largely autobiographical. i started writing this as a source of comfort when i was going through a really rough time. writing has always been a way for me to cope or to learn more about myself. so writing about imprinting- -this idea of true and unconditional love- -is a way for me to explore my own feelings about trust and love. which, for the longest time, was something i wasn't sure i was capable of. the rejected summary for this story was: "a sad bitch learns how to love and be loved." which is something i've been trying to learn myself.

maybe modeling a character after yourself isn't the best writing technique, but this story is first and foremost, for me. but with that being said, i still hope people like it. and if you are someone who sees yourself in this story: keep going, keep growing.

All I can do to keep you safe is hold you close
until you can breathe on your own
***

January 31, 2017 / 11:35 a.m.

She figured the sadness must have come to her in the same way the color of her hair and the slope of her nose did. Like her genes, she was made of it. It sat in her bones and swirled in her eyes. Slow and sticky, it ran black through her veins like tar.

It made her heavy. Some days, the weight was bearable. Today, it crushed down. Held her hostage on the mattress, as she listened to the lively tone of the alarm she set on her phone go off, simultaneously vibrating against the kitchen counter where she'd left it before collapsing into bed last night.

She was wondering how long it would take for the device just to die- -the battery had been at 13% when last she checked- -when it changed to her phone call ringtone. Slowly, she sat up and swung her legs onto the floor. Every joint creaked in protest. The world swam in and out of focus, her bleary eyes blinked rapidly in an effort to banish the inky spots in her vision.

She should eat something.

The ringing persisted. She recognized the number instantly: it was her mom. Her hand hesitated, hovering a few inches away from her phone. Another second or so, and it would go to voicemail. Despite the dread pooling in her stomach, she pressed the green button at the last possible moment.

She coughed to clear her throat before answering, but it didn't do much. Her voice was scratchy from lack of use, "Hello?"

"Were you asleep?"

"No."

"Isn't it noon out there?" She always called Washington out there, and even though it had been framed a question, her mother knew exactly what time it was. Which was technically 11:38, not noon.

The silence on the other end of the line was loaded. Her mother was actually expecting her to respond. Not for confirmation, but rather as a confession. With no other option, she mumbled, "Not quite."

A deep sigh, "Grace."

"Yes?" She knew exactly where this was going, and it made her snappish.

Grace let herself tune out this part of the conversation. The part where her mother lamented that she still didn't understand why she had to leave like she did. How Grace hadn't considered what it would be like for her to open the door to her daughter's room and find it empty, except for a letter. "You have no idea what I was thinking, Grace."

Grace had slowly faded away from the world, and everyone who loved her could do little but watch. She had a pretty good idea what her mother was thinking that day, and she still felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach.

She hadn't thought about that when she wrote the letter at 2:00 that morning. She hardly thought about the words she was scribbling on the page because she could only think in numbers: the miles she longed to put between herself and this house, this city, this life. The seconds that had raced around her stagnant body for far too long.

She would not stand still any longer. She moved forcefully- -shoving things into suitcases, practically running out of the house and into her car, peeling out of the driveway.

"You would have tried to stop me." Her voice was a watery whisper. As much as it hurt to leave them behind, she couldn't be stifled any longer. Maybe one day she would wake up and be glad that she did, but until then… she would be here. She could wait for that day, she could fight for that day for herself. Sometimes, the worst thing people could be was supportive. It felt like she had a deadline.

"When are you coming home?"

"I don't know." Another despairing sigh crackled through the receiver. The poisonous thing that lived inside her awoke, merciless and ravenous. "I'm sorry you have to lie when people ask how I'm doing. It must be really hard for you."

"Grace..." The warmth in her mother's voice had been carved out. What was left was hollow and weary and utterly unrecognizable.

"I'm sorry, Mom." But even the apology was not without a quiet harshness. The phone went dead. Grace held it in front of her, staring at the device as if it was to blame.

February 3, 2017 / 2:09 p.m.

For the first time since her arrival last month, it wasn't precipitating. That was another thing her mother "just can't understand." She'd read online that gray skies and rain were a catalyst for depressive moods- -there was enough research and medical support on the subject that Grace should've set her course for Arizona or southern California, instead of the grayest sliver of American sky- -but she thought that it might be nice to have something to blame for them.

Although the clouds still hung heavy, the fortuitous dryness of the air had inspired Grace to wiggle into a pair of jeans, and go outside. Specifically, she wanted to see the ocean. Coming from the landlocked Midwest, she'd only seen it once on a family vacation to Hawaii when she was twelve. A lifetime ago, it seemed.

Unsurprisingly, the beach was abandoned. It was only February, so it was frigid by the ocean. The cold winter air nipped at her face, waking up her cheeks. She'd always loved that feeling. She unrolled her towel onto the freezing, soggy sand and sat down. It was only a few minutes before the water and grit were seeping through both the towel and her jeans, and clinging to her skin.

It was strange that the sound of the slate colored waves raging against one another was so calming. Grace could not remember a time that she was so content to be alone.

The tranquility, however, did not last long. Boisterous laughter and shouting snatched Grace's attention: crashing through the underbrush and shoving at one another, emerged a large group of boys from the treeline.

Large, not only in the amount of members- -Grace could count seven- -but also in sheer physical size. All long limbs and broad shoulders, emphasized by the fact that not one of them was wearing a shirt. How could they stand to be dressed like that? The force of her shivers were making Grace's teeth clatter together so hard she was afraid it might do permanent damage, despite the fact she was wearing a shirt, under a proper winter coat. And shoes. And two pairs of socks.

All at once, the boys seemed to notice her presence. They could probably feel her staring. One of them started staring back.

There was a surge in volume from the group, they started whooping and hollering and laughing. Quickly, Grace turned her face to the ocean.

And then someone was sinking into the arctic sand beside her, "Too cold for a swim?"

She turned to face the stranger and took in his appearance. His dark, rumpled hair flopped over his forehead boyishly, begging for fingers to run through it. It curled a little around his ears. There was not a single goosebump on his muscled chest. She averted her eyes before she could take too much notice of those muscles.

But she knew she was blushing when she asked dryly, "Too hot for a jacket?"

He smiled at that. "I don't get cold easy."

Grace's laugh manifested into a cloud. She looked at it pointedly as it disappeared, then at her company. Her eyebrows shot up.

"So, if you're not here to swim," he said, interrupting her skeptical appraisal. "What brought you to La Push?"

"How do you know I'm not from here?" Her voice was deadpan, but he caught her joke.

His laugh was warm and deep, "Just a hunch."

She shrugged, "The only time I ever left the Midwest was when I was still in middle school. We went on vacation to Hawaii. I missed the ocean."

"It's really something," he said, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Then admitted, "I haven't stopped to look at it in a while."

"I'd build a house right here if I could. With a porch to watch the sunsets from."

He kicked at the sand, "I wouldn't recommend that."

Grace rolled her eyes, nudging the body next to her with an elbow, "I said if I could."

"I'd do it up in the cliffs." He pointed, and Grace followed his finger up the rocky cliff face to the evergreen trees growing there. The low-hanging fog making it seem otherworldly. "The view's better up there."

Grace didn't doubt it, but she said, "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then I guess I'll just have to take you," He said with a sigh, as if resigning himself to the task. But he was smiling.

"Oh, really?" She couldn't have fought back her returning smile, even if she'd wanted to. "Don't I get a say in the matter?"

"That depends. Are you gonna say no?"

"No." She said, but realized that she had in fact said no, which made both of them laugh. "I was going to say that I've been taught not to go into the woods with strange men that are twice my size."

"How specific."

Grace rolled her eyes, giving him another light shove. "You know what I mean," and before he could say something smart again, she continued, "Like, how do I know you're not a serial killer?"

Looking genuinely curious, he asked, "Do I look like a serial killer?"

"They never do," Grace said pointedly.

"Well, I'm not."

She narrowed her eyes, "Unless you're just trying to lure me into a false sense of security."

"Is it working?"

Grace watched a playful grin that spread across his face, until it dimpled his cheeks, and shone in those dark eyes. The picture of happiness- -she still knew it when she saw it.

"Maybe."

"I'm Collin, by the way." He held out his hand.

She took it, and gave it a firm shake, "Grace."

Holding his hand in her frozen fingers felt like walking inside after being out in a blizzard. So warm it stung a little. Still, she entertained the idea of not letting go.

February 6, 2017 / 1:19 p.m.

For once in her life, Grace wasn't dreading answering the phone once it started to ring. Collin's name lit up the screen. She'd agreed to give him her phone number while he walked her to her car, so he could take her on that excursion to the cliffs over La Push sometime.

She barely got out greeting before Collin started talking, "I know I promised an adventure, but it's supposed to rain all week and I want to see you again."

Grace had never met someone so open in her life- -who just said what they were thinking, what they felt without the slightest hesitation. It was the sort of innocence that couldn't be outgrown, and Grace couldn't admire him more for it.

She was different, though. She didn't say what she was thinking, which was Why would you want to do that? Followed shortly by the feeling she ought to warn him about getting too close to her.

She just said, "Okay."

February 10, 2017 / 6:55 p.m.

It's hard to have fun when you don't want to have fun. Grace wanted to want to have fun, but that seemed like an impossibility when Friday arrived.

She couldn't sum up the energy to get out of bed until 1:00 that afternoon, mindlessly watching episode after episode of the Criminal Minds marathon on Ion. Grace had seen every episode to date, and despite the subject matter, her favorite show was a comfort. If not a bit lonely without Trina next to her, cringing at the gore and mooning over Agent Morgan.

She texted her childhood best friend, just to let her know she was thinking about her. The response was almost instantaneous: OMG I'M WATCHING IT TOO! miss you so much gracie

Grace read those two sentences over and over, unsure if it made her feel better or worse.

Her mood matched the weather, which was dreary enough for Grace to consider calling Collin and telling him she was sick. Which technically, wasn't a lie. She just wasn't the right kind of sick. But she could make up something about food poisoning.

No. You've done this before, she reminded herself. She'd smiled through drinks with her friends and danced at wedding receptions, and maybe even enjoyed most of it once she got over that hill. And dammit, she was going to climb today.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the slightly rusted bathtub. A brightening mask tingled her rosy cheeks as she massaged a homemade sugar scrub over her legs. It was an idea she'd found on a list of "Best Tips for Self-care" on Pinterest. Even though Grace knew that lighting a lavender scented candle and drinking green tea wasn't going to fix her, taking those extra minutes for herself had her feeling okay by the time she was swiping on a soft pink lipstick. The jeans and sweater combo she'd put together was cute enough, and there was a fluttering in her chest- -a nice change from the heaviness that typically resided there.

A heavy knock sounded.

Only someone who didn't quite know his own strength could rattle the door like that, but Grace still peered through the peep-hole before unlocking the door. He looked just as good in a pale blue button down as he had with no shirt at all. He'd combed his hair a little.

She'd given in to Collin's insistence- -he would be, supposedly, "a huge jackass" if he made her drive all the way to Port Angeles- -and agreed to let him pick her up, telling herself that there was no need to be embarrassed about the rundown apartment space she now called home. And if he thought it was strange she lived in a retired couple's converted basement, he didn't say anything.

"Hi," she said, stepping aside to let him in, suddenly feeling very shy.

Collin was looking around the room behind her curiously. It hadn't been long since she'd last cleaned up, so there weren't any dirty underwear lying on the floor, but Grace still felt strangely exposed as his eyes swept over the reddish wood panelled walls and green shag carpet that reeked of the seventies. The small kitchenette with its rusted appliances and white cabinets that didn't match the wood of the dresser, or the only half-full wardrobe that sat next to it.

But then, that gaze landed on her, shining and eager. With a jolt, Grace realized that she didn't want this- -the light in his eyes when he looked at her- -to fade. So she straightened her spine, adjusted her grip on her small purse, and with the biggest smile she could muster while still maintaining authenticity, said, "Are you ready?"

They drove to Port Angeles for dinner, because even though the food at the local diner was great, Grace wasn't thrilled by the idea of going on a date at the place she worked at on Tuesdays, Thursdays and weekends. Cora would never let her hear the end of it.

Between bites of the annoyingly delicious free bread at the quintessentially Pacific Northwestern seafood restaurant they'd decided on, she tactfully answered Collin's barrage of questions, talking about the last few weeks as though they were part of a grand adventure.

"I study English and creative writing, but I decided to take a semester off." Which was a gentle way of saying: I stopped going to all of my classes, and failed the term so badly I received an academic dismissal.

"Why'd you choose to come here? Out of everywhere else?"

"I was shooting for Seattle, actually," she said, laughing at her own misfortune. Spotty cell service leading to a glitchy GPS as she headed north, only to veer too far west. By the time she'd realized what she'd done, she was surrounded by the Olympic National Forest.

Collin's massive shoulders seemed to stiffen, like he'd been taken by surprise. She couldn't get a read on his expression when he said, "Sounds like fate."

That was an awfully big word to be throwing around over the dinner table, but Grace had to agree that there was a certain rightness about where she'd ended up. Forks had been the first town she stumbled across on that lonely stretch of highway, but she'd only planned on staying the night to rest and regroup. She could have been in Seattle by now, if she wanted to be.

"I like to think of it as a happy accident."

"So why Seattle, then?"

"There's the perfect mix of city and nature to explore. I could go kayaking one day, and to a poetry slam the next. I love how connected it is with music and literature."

"So, you've always been a big reader?"

Grace nodded enthusiastically, "I picked up Harry Potter when I was eight, and I've been hooked ever since."

"Are they your favorite books?"

She thought about it for a moment. She'd read so many amazing books, and met such beautiful characters. But Albus Dumbledore had said it, and it was true: Hogwarts was always there for her. She nodded.

"Which one is your favorite?"

"You've read them?"

"Don't look so surprised," he laughed.

"Sorry," she winced, feeling her cheeks warm up.

"I'm just teasing," Collin said, then dropped his voice, "And to be honest, I only made it through the first three."

"What?" She felt her jaw drop. "Goblet of Fire is the best one!"

She considered for a moment, "No, second best. But still."

"I've seen all the movies," he offered. Grace shook her head disapprovingly.

"What? You don't like them?"

"No, of course I do!" She watched them every time ABC Family did Harry Potter Weekend. "I saw the last three on opening night."

"Nerd," he coughed, making himself laugh.

The lull in conversation, however brief, made Grace painfully aware of how much she'd just been rambling. Sheepishly, she turned back to her lobster mac and cheese. "Now that I've bored you half to death- -"

She had paused for a moment, trying to think of what she wanted to ask him. Most of their conversation had been about her. But before she could say anything, Collin was looking at her and shaking his head.

"No, don't apologize," His smile was warm and reassuring. "You lit up for a second there. I like that."

February 14, 2017 / 10:10 p.m.

"I told you this was a romantic movie."

Grace looked away from Simba and Nala's reunion to roll her eyes at Collin. When he'd suggested they celebrate Valentine's Day with a romance, she'd been expecting something a little more traditional.

"Yeah, wiping your tears away while you cried over Mufasa was so romantic."

She'd said it to tease him, but the truth was that there really was something tender about that moment. Collin didn't try to hide the fact he was crying, nor did he flinch away from Grace's thumb when she brushed it across his damp cheek.

February 21, 2017 / 9:08 a.m.

Grace didn't turn her head at the sound of the bell when Collin stepped through the door behind Brady, who had yet to speak to Collin since he got into the truck twenty minutes ago-he wasn't a morning person. She was too busy with the elderly couple in the corner booth to notice them waiting to be seated. Unsurprisingly, she looked really cute in her apron with her strawberry-blonde hair swept up into a high ponytail.

From where he stood, he could see the side of her face, her smile flashing briefly and brilliantly at something the woman had said with a wink. He realized it had been a while since he'd seen that smile, since he'd seen Grace. It was beautiful- -she was beautiful.

Collin didn't realize his heart had started to beat faster until Brady turned around just to roll his eyes at him. Collin threw an elbow at him, "Shut up, asshole."

It wasn't long after they were seated that Grace approached the table, suppressing a smile and rolling her eyes, "What are you doing here?"

"Is that how you greet all of your customers?"

"Only the special ones."

The diner was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday, so Grace couldn't hover for long. So Collin and Brady sat in silence- -mostly because of Brady's lingering surliness- -and Collin watched her breeze around the tables. More than likely wearing a dopey smile.

She apologized for her negligence when she dropped off the checks.

"S'alright," Collin smiled, "But I will have to take that into consideration with your tip."

"Well if you wanted to have breakfast with me, you should have come to my apartment, not my job," she sassed back.

"Uh oh! You just lost another dollar."

Across the diner, a patron's hand shot up to catch Grace's attention, and she darted off to help them. But not before sneakily flipping him off behind the drink tray in her other hand.

Collin, of course, didn't make good on his threat, instead depositing an extra twenty on the table, along with a note scribbled on the back of a napkin,

Use this to buy more snacks.

Because all that girl had in her fridge was sriracha and yogurt.

February 24, 2017 / 11:55 a.m.

"Where've you been? I miss you."

"You just saw me on Tuesday."

"And now it's Friday and I miss you."

"Okay, clingy."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Seriously though… are you avoiding me?"

"No! I mean not on p-well, maybe. But it's just-I don't-and then you just…and I'm not-y'know?"

"... No."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think I'm starting to like you too much."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"I haven't decided yet."

February 26, 2017 / 10:06 a.m.

"Collin," Grace groaned, "You're making a mess."

When Collin had shown up on Grace's doorstep with an armful of ingredients, she was more than thrilled to let him in and show him where she kept her mixing bowl. That was, of course, before he'd actually started cooking. The small kitchenette was sprinkled with flour and sticky with egg whites- -Collin was an absolute tornado in the kitchen.

He looked up from the batter he was whisking at an alarming speed, to where Grace was perched on the counter and smiled, looking sheepish, "I know, I'm sorry. I'll clean it up, I promise."

Taking in those puppy-brown eyes and dimpled cheeks, Grace shook her head, "It's a good thing you're cute."

"Cute, or making you food?" Collin asked wryly.

Grace considered. The smell of the pancakes turning gold on the griddle was making a strong argument for the latter. Her silence was an answer enough for Collin. He laughed, "I can't even be mad. These are the second best pancakes in the world."

The recipe was his grandmother's. It was the first thing Collin ever learned to cook, back when he needed a stool to see over the stove. His grandmother always used blueberries fresh from her garden, and for that reason, Collin was convinced that his pancakes would never be quite as good as hers.

She might have been drooling slightly as she watched him flip one, which made for a pretty unconvincing, "I'll be the judge of that."

The stack was still steaming when Collin set it in front of her, but that didn't stop Grace from cutting into them immediately. Her eyes watered with that first bite, and she was unsure if it was because of the hot blueberry exploding on her tongue, or if these pancakes were so good, they had actually moved her to tears.

Collin was looking at her rather smugly, but rather than poke at his expanding ego, Grace said, "Next time someone at the diner orders pancakes, I'm sending them to your house."

He beamed at her, soaking up the praise like a damned sponge. It was adorable.

Shifting herself up in her seat, Grace leaned in and kissed his flour dusted cheek.

March 7, 2017 / 8:30 p.m.

Collin was sprawled out on the ugly carpet, dark brows knitted together in concentration as he shuffled his letter tiles around in front of him. A fuzzy episode from season five of Criminal Minds was playing almost inaudibly on the TV, but it kept steering Grace's attention away from her own tiles.

"Are you kidding me?" Collin suddenly blurted, his voice, much like his body, too big for the room.

Grace's head turned from the screen to see Collin staring at her incredulously. "What?"

"Oh-sten-" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "What does that even say?"

"Ostentatious," she corrected. "It means over-the-top, or showy."

Collin's lips quirked into a teasing half-smile, "Kind of like using that word?"

Her jaw dropped, "You are such a sore loser!"

"You're brilliant." His response was instantaneous, and so sincere that Grace wasn't sure Collin had meant to say it at all. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And a cheater."

Grace shrugged modestly, although her cheeks warmed at the compliment. "I'm an English major."

Grace won the game, but barely. Collin realized quickly that she didn't like to make small words, so if he made them, and did it fast enough, he could overwhelm her. It was just luck that most of the many tiles she had in her pile could be used to make the word 'onomatopoeia.'

When she suggested another round, Collin suddenly gained interest in the high-intensity chase happening on the screen.

As the sun went down, the pair moved from the floor to the bed with Grace buried under the blankets and Collin lounging next to her, on top of them. He slung an arm around her, and it was like the chill in the air had never existed.

Collin never got cold, even in her little basement with the February air sneaking in through the egress window. He was wearing basketball shorts and an old t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Under all the blankets, Grace had on her favorite sweatpants- -which were probably big enough to fit Collin- -and a thermal shirt.

This night, in all of its stained sweats and slightly greasy French braided glory, was one of the most peaceful nights she remembered having in a long time.

"Holy shit," Collin breathed.

Grace arched her neck so she could see his face. He was watching the screen with a grimace. She heard the desperate screams of the victim, then the squelch of a knife meeting flesh. Some of the color drained from Collin's cheeks.

"No wonder you were so sure I was going to murder you."

"I'm still not convinced you aren't," she said lightly, even as she snuggled closer. His arm tightened around her shoulders.

She was almost asleep when her phone started chiming. She was tempted to ignore the reminder to take her medication, despite the consequences. But then Collin asked, "What's that?"

She sighed in annoyance as she pushed herself off the mattress and into the uninviting cold of her room, "I have to set an alarm to remember to take my antidepressant, or I'll forget."

Grace shuffled to the bathroom and dispensed a 350 mg tablet into her palm. She sat back down next to Collin, and reached for her water bottle on the night stand on her side of the bed. After knocking back the pill, she settled into the pillows.

The rest of the episode had passed in silence. Collin had stopped commenting on the show, his string of questions had unravelled. During the commercial break before the next one started, Grace turned around and looked at him through narrowed eyes, "You're being weird."

He didn't even try to deny it. He was looking at her carefully, a crease between his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"I mean- -the medicine." He fumbled for words, "Does it… work?"

What a loaded question. She didn't know how to answer it when the doctor asked during her last checkup, and she certainly doesn't know how to answer it now. It was hard to tell where her personality ended and her mood disorder began. She'd been like this for so long, trying to remember who she was before was like looking through a dirty window- -it was impossible to make out the details.

Maneuvering herself so she was sitting on his lap, Grace let out a heavy breath, "I haven't been completely honest with you…"

Collin stilled, and Grace winced. She probably could have started this conversation differently. She wished she hadn't even started it in the first place, but she knew it was too late for that. Grace could tell that Collin was trying to keep his face neutral, as he waited for her to continue, but she already knew him too well for that. His shoulders had gone stiff, and his eyes were darting all over the place. He cracked his knuckles one at a time, as if to fill the silence.

"It's not what you're thinking- -" She started, but quickly realized that she didn't actually know what he was thinking. Maybe whatever he'd conjured up in his head was so bad that when she told him the truth, it wouldn't seem like such a burden.

She didn't want Collin to realize how heavy she truly was, that she might as well be an iron ball tethered to his ankles. But she also knew he deserved to know. So she tried again, "I just… I didn't come to Washington for a gap year. I got dismissed from the school for my grades and attendance record."

There. She said it. She said it and the world didn't stop spinning.

Collin's shoulders deflated just a little. The crease between his brows smoothed for only a second before he seemed to fully understand what she'd said, "Why?"

"Last year I… I just got so sad. For no reason. But I still couldn't make myself get out of bed for class or anything else," She should know better than to feel so embarrassed, but in all of the times she'd had this conversation, Grace had never felt anything but small. She started tracing the lines on Collin's palms with her fingers to avoid his gaze.

"So after I received the dismissal, I packed my bags and…"

"You just… ran?"

Grace looked at Collin and tried to smile, "Actually, I drove."

His expression mirrored hers: a tenuously placed smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was looking at her expectantly.

"It was just too much. And the medicine has helped a lot, but…" She hadn't missed a shift at the diner, and she was consistently doing her laundry. "But sometimes I still wake up in the morning wishing I hadn't, and I don't even know why."

The admission made Collin flinch, and Grace shrank even smaller, curling into him with their fingers still linked together in her lap. The shame was as endless as the sky, and she was Atlas, struggling under its weight.

Collin squeezed her hands just enough to let her know he was there. A reassurance so gentle it made her want to cry. She could feel it behind her eyes when she finally looked up at him.

"I didn't want to say anything because, well, it's not the easiest conversation to have with someone you want to like you."

"Thank you for telling me," he said. His voice was rough, and the look in his eyes made her chest cave in.

He pulled her so close, her response was pressed into the warm skin on his neck, "Thank you for listening."

March 8, 2017 / 12:14 a.m.

"If you decide to drive away again, can you at least give me a heads up?"

"Why?"

"So I can give you a ride- -you are a terrible driver."