Hushed Willows My girl don't want me cause of my dirty laundry

You can talk to me, he said. But how could she? Even now she couldn't get it out of her head, the harsh way he'd spoken to her. Why hadn't he brought this up sooner? Why hadn't he talked to her? Instead he'd waited for a tearful moment, waited to tell her that he did not want to hear what she had to say, that he was tired of her, the way he'd promised would never happen. He'd promised.

She'd been a fool to believe him.

Okay, Reverie murmured nonetheless, wanting desperately to leave this hurt behind even as it burned ever-brighter in her throat and her chest. How could he demand her trust even as he shattered what little she'd given him? But she loved him; she wanted to forget that this had happened.

Her eyes ached and her head throbbed. When he asked if she was hungry, she immediately felt nauseous. No, She said quietly, haltingly. I just want to stay here for a little while. Here, in his arms, where she hoped that the warmth of his embrace might somehow erase the hurtful things he'd said to her.