Page 311 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I stare at him, not being able to hide the sadness in my voice. “So you just…let me think you were someone you weren’t.”

He nods, shame flashing across his face. “Yeah.”

I swallow, and my voice comes out smaller now. “That really messed with me. That was a huge part of why I was scared to get attached to you.”

“I know,” he whispers.

I stare out at the park for a second because I can’t look at him. Because if I look at him, my heart will forget to protect itself.

He takes both of my hands in his now, turning to face me, and his knee brushes mine. It’s such a small touch, but it sends my whole body into memories.

“I know it was wrong. You shared yourself with me, and I wasn’t honest with you when it mattered. I was more worried about the expectations people always put on me, rather than puttingyourmind at ease. Making you feel like youeverhad any competition, when in reality, no one willeverbe able to comecloseto what you mean to me.”

For some reason, that answer feels better than some perfected one, because perfect doesn’t exist. We’ve never been perfect. We’re messy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way with him.

“What does all of this mean?”

“I’ve actually had a lot of time to think about that,” he tells me. “I want to learn how to love you without taking from you.”

My heart feels warm at that.

“And for a while…I think that means we also don’t sleep together.”

The words land sloppily, and my insecurity jumps up like a reflex. “So you just don’t want me anymore?” I whisper, hating the way it sounds as soon as I say it.

His eyes widen. “No.” He shakes his head hard. “No, Simone. I want you so much it scares me to mess things up any more than I already have.”

My mind is battling between hurt and relief, still confused by what he’s trying to say.

“That’s exactly why,” he continues, “I need to prove to both of us that this isn’t just about sex. That I’d choose you even if sex was completely off the table.”

I stare at him, twisting my fingers together from the nerves while my heart wants to beat out of my chest and run to this boy.

He laughs softly, and a little bitterly. “I want to remember this season for actually getting better, not just getting naked.”

I laugh through the emotion because, of course, he’d say it like that.

But my eyes are burning. “Mason…” I whisper.

“You deserve to know you’re worth so much more than that. And when we started this based on physical feelings, it clouded what I actually felt for you. It didn’t give me the space to prove to you that I can protect your heart. You were right when yousaid we were treating sex like a band-aid for our wounds, as if it would magically give us the self-worth we were both craving.”

“We have to do that on our own, huh?”

He just nods.

“Sex is not proof of love,” he tells me.

“Sex is not proof of love,” I echo, feeling this strong, overwhelming settled sensation in my heart.

Those words hit the part of my heart that’s been begging to be acknowledged. Because I’ve been so afraid to admit I was scared of losing him if sex was off the table. Not that I didn’t want sex with him, because it’s one of the best feelings I’ve ever felt, but it was also the scariest feeling because of how much more I felt for him outside of that.

“You really mean that?” I whisper.

He nods. “I do.”

I nod back, but then get hit with the part I’ve been holding from him, too.

“Mason…” I whisper.