Crash
More. She said there was more. And she looked so scared.
"Okay," I say, gritting my teeth to brace for it. "Tell me."
I'm starting to shake and it's a fire in my chest. I mutter a curse under my breath and will myself to stop. I hate it when my body does this—as if it's completely separate from my thoughts, it just reacts on its own, does things without my permission. What the hell?
"Crash," she whispered. When I look at her she looks like she is trying to decide something. Then she stands and turns to sit on the coffee table in front of me. Leaning down, she takes my hands and for a second I feel like I'm five. Except, when she's leaned forward like that I can see down the v-neck of her sweater. But I force myself to keep my eyes on hers. "I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you. It's why I didn't want to tell you, I didn't want to hurt you."
