There was something more, something that he wasn’t saying to her. She could feel it in how he sat there, how he tensed a bit with anticipation for something that didn’t come. So tangible was the want hanging between them that she could almost reach out and touch it, run her fingers along its heated tension, its need to be spoken on the tip of his tongue. He even began to speak, her name barely audible as it crossed the threshold of his lips, and she waited for what was to come, bracing for something she was almost certain she couldn’t handle.<br/><br/>…But, just like that, he pushed whatever it was back, swallowed his want like he had the water in his glass. A mental sigh of relief was loosed, taking in his smile and the enthusiasm of his voice and knowing it wasn’t what he truly felt. Knowing she was the cause of his current upset, and hating herself for it. There was a time that she’d have said anything for his smile, or simply held him if that’s what he’d desired.<br/><br/>Now…now the prospect of holding him, while it still enticed her more than she’d ever admit…had her heart racing in a way that spoke of fear, not attraction. There was a fear that he’d wise up and get out while he still could, to distance himself from the broken girl that now remained in her stead. “A fire…would be nice,” she started, her voice hesitant, arms curling back around herself out of newfound habit. “…But we should…talk…shouldn’t we?” Her eyes dropped, a hand rubbing up and down her arm. “I know that this…this isn’t ideal…and for that, I am sorry. I’m sorry that I’m…weak, that I’ve caved into myself so completely…” Hazarding a quick glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction, her gaze dropped again. “If this is…too uncomfortable…I can go back and we can just…”<br/><br/>The words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t say that they could just forget about it when she knew she wouldn’t be able to. So, she shook her head and started again. “I’m trying…to push passed this…this feeling, but it’s so hard, Brád. I can’t look at myself, I feel like no one else can look at me, I can hardly stand to touch myself, let alone the thought of anyone else doing it…And what’s killing me most…is that I know you love me, and that you’re right there…so close that I can touch you, and I don’t…I don’t feel like I should. I feel like I’m too dirty, too wrong to<span style="font-style: italic">deserve</span>to touch you…I want to just…hug you, or even hold your hand, and I don’t feel that I can…”<br/><br/>Another glance was hazarded in his direction, very brief. “…I just don’t want you to…to feel obligated to…be near me when it’s…paining you…” A sort of sob fell free, but she forged on. “I know that it is…I can hear it…I can see it in your eyes when you look at me, trying to act enthusiastic about a fire when I know that’s not what you want…If…If being around me is too much…then I’ll go back…” A pause as another sob fell free. “…Just…Just say the word, and I’ll…I’ll go.”