Dane's POV:
I can't stand her.
I cannot be around her when she looks like that — hollow and wounded and still loving me in a way that makes my chest feel like it is being split open.
I cannot listen to her talk about us as if we were something shallow, as if what we have built between us is some fever dream I indulged in because I was lonely or angry or reckless.
To hear her talk to a rabbit about me.
To hear her say she was just some hot fantasy.
The words replay in my head with cruel precision.
That I touched her just to soothe myself.
The accusation does not enrage me. It injures me. There is a difference. I am not some starving animal incapable of restraint.
I am not a man who reaches for warmth because he cannot tolerate silence. I would never use someone to soothe myself, especially not like that, especially not her.
The thought alone is offensive.
If that's how she feels about me, then what are we doing?
