“Craig,” I said, looking at him still sitting on my bed with that look of almost panic on his face. Boy, I felt brilliant. I told him I loved him and what does he do? He jokes. I wanted to die. But I squared my mental shoulders and prepared to get through this. It was okay. I’d be okay.

I brushed my hair, flipping it under, noticing the red at the ends. It was cool and edgy like me now. I’d moved on from my little safe popular girl from last year. I had to move on from her. She was smothering me.

I went back to the bed and sat next to him. The play of emotions on his face was really incredible. There were layers. He wanted things to be light and funny, that was the first layer. But under that was fear. He was afraid of this “I love you” business. If I’d been thinking clear I would have known that, but I was caught up in the moment. I was attending to my needs. I loved him and I wanted to have sex with him but I had to know that he loved me, too. Had to hear him say it. I mean, who can blame me? I was 15.

“Craig,” I said softly, and took both his hands in mine, “I love you,” I said, looking into his eyes. I said it so softly. The color of his eyes was really incredible, this hazel green almost brown. His eyes had every color except the color of mine, blue.

I could see him stiffen up, saw his gaze drop from my eyes to the bed. He wanted to pull away from me. Any lightness he had been trying for was dissolving. He was looking everywhere, the top of the bed, my window, the walls, the door, everywhere but at me. He went to pull away, he jerked his hands to get free of my grasp but I anticipated it and tightened up.

“Hey,” I said, holding his hands in a tight grip, “hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to say it,”

Still he wouldn’t look at me. I knew what was going on, sort of. I knew he’d had this hard time with his parents dying and everything. I knew that it scared him to love someone because it ended kind of badly. I licked my lips. I couldn’t guarantee that this wouldn’t end badly.

“Look, I know it’s tough for you, but listen to me. I’m not going anywhere,” I didn’t know if I was saying the right things. I didn’t know what to say. How exactly do you deal with someone else’s pathology? It was like a path in the woods in the dark, no flashlight. Feeling your way.

“Ash…” he said, and in the dim light of my room I could see the tears starting. I kissed them away, tasting the salt on my tongue. We fell together onto my pillow, and I kissed his cheeks and then his lips.

“Ash, I’m sorry, it’s hard for me to say it…” he said, and I could see how his eyelashes looked darker from the tears.

“I know, it’s okay,” I whispered, and ran my hand through his thick curls. His hand went back to my belt buckle and easily undid the clasp. I hoped I had locked my door but honestly couldn’t remember. Things were going further than I had originally anticipated, but it was okay. Despite or because of the tense muscles and the tears I knew he loved me, too. So it was okay. Our school books in a pile on the floor, my circle mirror reflecting us back at me, it was okay. I knew he loved me and he didn’t have to say it.