The Mates of Monsters
I murmur, "for being annoying."
We lay horizontally along the bed, on top of the covers but too enraptured to care. This towering building may be full of people, but I have never felt so alone with him.
"Annoying? No."
"Maybe just a little," I say.
His arm secures around me, and I peer up from the crook. I think about saying it back—telling him, I'm yours, but it feels like a lie. How can I say I am his if I am unable to truly be his? I'm yours, but you can't touch me. I'm yours, but I'm too nervous to speak. I'm yours, I'm yours—
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