Alright, manly man,” he says. “Go prove that you’re a man.

I let my head fall forward into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "Now what do we do?" He's quiet for a while and I finally lean back to look him in the eyes. He appears conflicted by something and then he sets me down on the ground, lacing his fingers through mine. "Should we see where the wind takes us?" he asks. I stare at my hand in his and then look up at him. "That sounds good to me.

You really need stitches," she tells me."Or you're going to have a scar." I try not to laugh. Stitches aren't going to help. They fix skin, cuts, wounds, heal stuff on the outside. Everything broken with me is on the inside. "I can handle scars, especially one's on the outside.

So she searches for light, only to realize it's in her, like an ember equipped to ignite.

I look into his eyes, no longer afraid what's in them, but afriad I'll lose what they carry.

The vertical lines that run down his forearms are the most disturbing, thick and jagged as if someone took a razor to his skin. I wish I could run my fingers along them and remove the pain and memories that are attached to them.

Pretend all you want, pretty girl. You and I know that deep down you’re secretly glad to be pressed up to my body.