Her arms lock in place.
My frame folds forward.
Head on shoulder.
Nails clawing desperately at the back of her blouse as I begin to bawl. “I don’t wanna fucking end up like Kara, Pres.” Tears pour from my eyes in spite of them being squeezed shut. “I don't wanna be found dead in my apartment without anyone who fucking cares about me. I don’t wanna be so fucking fucked up and alone that’s the only way to stop the fear. And voices. And the fucking pain.” Trembling unconsciously begins and my girlfriend doesn’t hesitate to embrace me harder. “I want more out of life, Pres. So. Much. Fucking. More. I especially want you.”
“You have me, Ry,” she quietly swears. “You always have.” Fingers suddenly slide into my unkempt locks. “And you always will.”