Page 110 of Trust Me

“I’m just a mashup of anyone I’ve ever identified with.”

“No, you aren’t,” he laughed. “Look, I had Dean pegged for the straightest of straights. If he’s into you—and willing to be open about it, not hiding you—it means he sees something in you. Run with it.”

“But what about being a stone?”

“A tree that never bends will break. A tree that bends too far will uproot. So, ask yourself, Oli: are you bending or bowing?”

“You know you’re a monster, right?”

“The best of men are.”

Leaning forward, I planted a kiss on his forehead. “I love you, Rem.”

“Love you too, Oli.”

As I got up, I gave him a once-over. “There are matches in the kitchen. Give a little offering to your god if you don’t mind. We could all use it, I think.”

A smile stretched across his face as he tipped his head back. “I’ll send it off to Freyja. Whether she responds with love or war isn’t on me.”

“Put in a good word, at least.”

“Will do, kiddo.”

Without another word, I hurried toward the bedroom. I slipped in as smoothly as possible, expecting to find Dean in bed. My brow furrowed, and I turned the other way.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He was crouched beside the dresser, which he’d pulled away from the wall a little. I watched his fingers brush over the writing there, and it made me more confused.

“They were fifty-two inches the last time they were measured,” he said.

I came up beside him and lowered to my knees. “Is this what you think about at four in the morning?”

“No, I wanted to know what goes through your mind, so I went looking.”

“You know I was just outside that door, right?”

He gave me an exasperated look. “What do you think about when you see this?”

I studied the markings, faded from all the years that had passed.

“It makes me wonder why nobody painted over it,” I replied.

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know.”

Taking me by the jaw, he turned my face toward him. “I don’t like this version of you.”

Like a stone, I stayed in place, forcing myself not to pull away. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“You aren’t being genuine. In the little time I’ve known you, I’ve never really seen you hide behind anything. I don’t want you to feel awkward or walk on eggshells with me.”

“And if I speak freely and it makes you uncomfortable, then what?”

“Then we talk about it. You love doing that.”

I tried to duck my chin, but he held it in place. Instead of shuttering all of the uncertainties I didn’t know how to name, I traced the shell of his ear with my fingers, hoping he would somehow understand through my touch if words weren’t enough.