But the thought of it brings the pain of her sudden death to the forefront, and I drop my head into my hands and let my words die on my lips.
“It was a good plan,” Dima murmurs, rubbing my back. His voice is deep and steady. “There’s too much blood. Take off your dress.” He must feel me stiffen, because he adds, “I’ll give you some privacy.”
He starts to stand. To leave.
But as he does, I realize something suddenly: I never want to be alone again.
“No!” I cry out. I latch on his hand. He looks down at me, surprised. “No,” I say again, quieter. “Don’t leave. Please stay. Help me.” After everything that has happened, I need to touch him. I need to feel him.
I look into his eyes for a moment. They’re churning with dark storms. Like he’s weighing what this might mean.
I want to tell him
