Some of us can begin to heal the damage people have done to us by escaping the situation, but some of us need more than that. Tattoos make statements that need to be made. Or hide things that are no one’s business. Your scars are battle wounds, but you don’t see them that way. Yet.

As we lay in the semi-dark hours later, we faced each other, sharing his pillow. I'd never felt more connected to anyone.

oh... so this is what all the fuss is about.

I tilt her chin up and bend my face to hers, silently praising every woman who's had a hand in making her who she is.

The last time someone dried my hair for me was in sixth grade, when i broke my arm." "How did you break it?" "I fell out of a tree." "You fell out of a tree?" "I think there was a boy and a dare involved." "Ah.

My last coherent thought, as Lucas took his time kissing and touching every part of me he could reach and my body arched into his, was: oh... so this is what all the fuss is about.

Look at me, Emma." Her eyes are full, the lids heavy. "Graham," she breathes. "I need you to hear me." Cradling her head in my hands, thumbs sweeping her tears away, I stare into her eyes. "I belong to you. There is no one else. All I want is to be where you are.