For a moment, I'm afraid I might flinch away, a reflex after feeling so overwhelmed, but instead I curl my fingers around his wrist, my lips grazing the heel of his hand.

"I'm not real great at it either," I admit, taking a step closer, even though I'm convinced I shouldn't. I keep wanting him to be someone he's probably never going to be. Someone dead. Which is stupid, especially when I love him anyway.