exposure therapy
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Summary
His fist is soft on her door, but it swings open on the hinges almost immediately. And there she is: Belly, grinning, barefoot in a white sundress and red lipstick. She looks like a dream, Conrad thinks. He’s definitely had this dream once or twice before. He maybe even had it last night. He had no idea it was possible to dream about Belly more than he already did, but the last few nights have taught him to never say never.
(Four days after Belly jumps on a train to confess her love, Conrad returns to Paris.)
Series
- Part 1 of exposure therapy
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He thinks about how standing in the aisle of that commuter train, whizzing through a Parisian suburb with the pad of his pointer finger pressed delicately against the hollow of Belly’s throat, was the first time someone told Conrad they loved him since, well, maybe since his mom died. It took until the sixth or seventh time Belly said it, murmured between kisses and sighed against his heart, that Conrad could even hear the words without feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of him.
(Forget touch starved; Conrad is pretty sure he has a loneliness hangover. Or something like that.)
Series
- Part 2 of exposure therapy