I took hold of his armor vest, pulling him back to me. But the guard was going back up over him, one thought at a time. “I don’t belong to you.” I repeated the words I said to him the night he pulled the stitches from my arm. This time, to lift
the weight that pressed down onto him and silence whatever words were whispering in his mind.
And because a small part of me still wanted them to be true.
“Yes, you do.” He pulled the hair back out of my face so he could look at me. “Like I belong to you.”