"You do know me," Cynthia whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "My favorite color is blue. I could live off of pepperoni. I like cards, I scare cats, I love you. The rest of it, it doesn't matter. I don't want it to matter." And yet, it did. She wanted another shot. She was never a heavy drinker, but the deeper they waded into this conversation, the more she wanted alcohol's aid. She had jumped at it earlier, because that's what she always pictured would happen when this day finally came-- they'd be shit faced, and then they'd talk. And bond. A fuck. And then they wouldn't remember it the next morning and all would be well. What a fantasy. Relationships didn't work that way.<br/><br/>She hiccuped, her diaphragm starting to relax from her previous sobs. And where the hell had those come from? What the hell was this mess? She could feel the same sentiment radiating off of him. She wanted to end the conversation, she didn't want to give answers, but she knew now that that wouldn't fix them. She rubbed her face and pulled her knees to her chest.<br/><br/>"I didn't want you to have their names, because I know you. You'd google them instead of push me. And then..." She took a deep breath in and out, cutting directly to the truth. "My mother disappeared when I was 8. Presumed dead, it's not like she'd leave me. Everyone suspected my dad, but..." she shrugged, unable to express the lack of evidence or the situation that unfolded. She pressed herself to continue, the life leaving her tone.<br/><br/>"He showed up dead in a cabin in the woods. With my aunt. And this teenage girl. They were surrounded by all this pagan shit. Murder suicide, or something. I don't know. I was 10 then. Grams had to pull me out of school, everything went crazy. People were egging the house, calling us witches, killing our dog..." She let herself pretend that he wasn't there, that she was in her bed, in the dark, practicing what she'd say when this moment finally came. The words came a little easier, and she didn't allow him time to respond, afraid of losing momentum. "And then I moved out. I started fresh. I met you and I never wanted you to see me like they did. I liked... I liked how you looked at me, even though I was so out of your league, you made me feel like I wasn't.  Even though I suck. And I can't do emotions right. And I have<span style="font-style: italic">no</span>clue what the fuck I'm suppose to do with you and this relationship. And I just thought, if I could keep us on positive notes; if we never reached this point..." Then there'd be no risk of rejection.<br/><br/>She stared at the wall, refusing to met his eyes.