Tallulah

Essie and I are having a bit of a casual day in, like most other days. She doesn't look like her father, but she doesn't look like me, either. I'm not sure who she looks like yet, but I know that she's the most precious thing I've ever laid eyes on. Adonis has been... difficult. I should sign the divorce papers, and I know I should because we aren't married, not really, and I don't want to be with him. It's not like this is going to work out, and I know that, rationally. But.

I turn over the papers on my table again, stacking them in a neat little pile before turning them over and stuffing them into the manila folder. In my heart, I'm more than aware that this is the best choice for me and my daughter. But I loved him so much. I gave Adonis my whole heart and my whole soul and I feel as though signing some stupid pieces of paper won't ever give those things back to me.

Leonard comes over when I'm fixing lunch. Before he would just come over when he had things to tell me about the case, or if something happened that was relatively important. But now he just... kind of pops up. Sometimes he cooks with me, sometimes, we just sit and drink some wine and talk. And sometimes we just spend time together. It's nice because I've been lonely for a long time and he's just different. And fresh, in a good way. He makes me feel good about myself and he doesn't ever put me in a position where I'm ill at ease or feel cornered.

I think that Leonard may just very well be the closest thing I might have to a friend at this point.

It's late summer and he's wearing this funny sweater, for no real reason because it's too hot outside, but I guess it looks good on him. It's brown with a white collar and it looks kind of like what I see in the catalogues and in the newspaper. It is, oddly enough, the first time I've ever looked at Leonard like a man instead of just my attorney.

It's not like Leonard isn't attractive or like I've never noticed him before, but... something about how he looks sitting with the baby while I make a pitcher of lemonade in the kitchen makes me see him in a new light. Leonard is, by nature, the exact opposite of Adonis. My type has always been the charismatic, engimatic sort of figure, the man who walked into a room like he owned the whole building and didn't care who didn't like him. Leonard is quiet and he's unassuming and he doesn't have the same arrogance that Adonis had. Or has, still. (That could be why, perhaps, I have never seen him in any other light than professional.)

He's helpful, he respects me, and sometimes I don't know if he cares for me or pities me but his company is something I'm grateful for none the less. I start to stir in the sugar - Adonis always liked it a little bitter but Leonard likes it sweet and the fact that I find myself making these small little notes in my mind makes me wonder exactly what it is that started this, and for how long I've been cataloguing their differences.

Adonis was not tall. He was about a few inches taller than me but not by very much, and if my heels were tall enough we were about the same height. Whereas Leonard is tall and slim, and young. My sister's age, but he doesn't look it, not like Adonis. When we met I was still in high school and he was a grown man, already knew right from wrong and acted how he pleased. Adonis looks a little older every time I see him, and it makes me wonder if Grace is even trying to take care of him. And then I get mad, because I know that if I ever see her in person again, I'll just lose it. But Leonard is... well. He's similar and yet so different and he makes my head spin in a way that it hasn't spun in a very long time.

I set down the glasses, one for myself and one for him.

"So, did you sign them?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "It's been a few weeks now." He's got these sad eyes, like a bloodhound. Sad and big and still so... happy. I don't understand. Maybe happy isn't the right word. Maybe calm suits him better. Calm eyes. His whole being and aura is calm. Adonis was never calm, he was always moving, always fidgeting. But Leonard was calm and cool, collected. Easy. A statue and a study in patience and a mild temper.

"No," I say after a moment, glancing down at the baby. She's half asleep, dozing in the crook of his arm. "I - I mean. I know I should," I explain. "It's just - I don't love him anymore. I know that. And I know that he never really loved me and I know that we're over now, I do, but I just..."

"It's not easy, letting go," Leonard murmurs, shrugging a little. His voice is smooth and rich. Dark coffee, black with no cream or sugar. Adonis has a light, barely there accent but it's there and it makes me sad whenever I think about it for too long. "No one is saying you have to."

"I have."

Leonard looks at me and raises an eyebrow, adjusting the baby on his lap. He doesn't say anything, sipping his drink coolly. What? I have. I've not called Adonis and I don't cry as much and I'm over this, over him and our sham of a marriage and everything he did. I'm a new person. I'm finally myself again and I'm okay.

"What?" I ask, finally curious and uncomfortable with how silent he is. Does he know something about myself I don't?

"You're still wearing your wedding band, even after all this time. You still sign things as Tallulah Papadopoulos, even though you answer the phone as Tallulah Roosevelt whenever someone else is around. You have pictures of him around and - "

"How dare you?" I hiss, throat thick. "I - you don't understand, Leonard. You don't. I was - I - I - " I can barely breathe, eyes cloudy and hot, itchy with tears I can't shed in front of him for fear of proving him right. "I - can you just go?"

"Tallulah - "

"Go."

Am I upset because he told me the truth? Because he was so brazen about it, so unapologetic? Or am I upset because I know that he's right and don't want to be confronted with what I know to be true because I want to live in my little bubble world? I don't know.

After Leonard leaves me alone with the baby, I sit and stare at the wall and cry. Adonis and I were happy. We were so happy and we were so in love and I loved that man with everything I had and I gave him the best years of my life and he just - and I shouldn't miss him so much, I shouldn't. And if I sign these papers, that means that everything is really over and I want to wake up some mornings and realize that this has all been a nightmare and that he'll kiss me and I'll be fine, that we'll be fine, but.

This is my life now. Adonis isn't here anymore. He's with Grace, according to Katie, and he's happy with her. He moved her into my house and has her wearing my things. Oddly enough, it doesn't make me cry, but it does make signing that packet of papers much easier. Every time I get upset, I stare at that packet and remind myself that Adonis did this to us, not me.

When Leonard comes over to make sure every thing is still in order with the divorce, I can barely look at him. I'm embarrassed. Was it that obvious that I still missed Adonis? Do I exude the air of a woman scorned who has no shame? Who will follow an unfaithful man to the ends of the earth in pursuit of love?

"I'm sorry about what I said," he says gently. His tone is always gentle as of late, like he's afraid to spook me, or that I'll start crying, or that I'll just get upset and cross with him again. "I crossed a line."

"It was the truth. I pay you to tell me the truth, don't I?"

"You don't pay me." He laughs, and then I laugh, and the sort of weird bubble of tension pops and disappears into the late afternoon. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say, peeking into the play pen. Esperanza is sound asleep for the first time all day, and I'd like to keep her that way. "Just... it feels weird. Adonis and I... we planned to be together forever, and now a little piece of paper says that we failed."

"It wasn't a we. You didn't do anything to him, and he didn't deserve you." He sounds so adamant about that, and repeats it for emphasis. I look at him, eyes a little curious. I blush despite myself. It's a compliment, kind of, and the last compliment anyone paid me was almost a year ago. (Adonis told me he liked a pin I used in my hair.) "You're a good woman, Tallulah Mae. A damn good woman."

"No one calls me by my full name," I murmur, cheeks a full pink. He smiles, setting the folder in his brief case.

"It's a nice name. Tallulah. Suits you."

Those words keep me up for a couple of nights. A damn good woman. What does that mean? Does Leonard notice things about me I don't notice? If I really was a damn good woman, why did Adonis leave me for countless other women? Why did he try to hurt me so much? If I was so damn good, why was I alone and on trial for defending myself and my unborn child?

It builds, this unspoken thing between Leonard and myself.

There are looks. Glances and quirked eyebrows and jokes and laughter and there's this gleam he gets when we talk. Sometimes we just talk about everything and nothing, about the news, about his job, about the kinds of trouble Essie likes to get into. (Which, admittedly, isn't very much since she's barely a few weeks old, but still.)

And he says things. Not exactly compliments, but little things that make me pause and wonder if there's a meaning underneath his seemingly innocent words that I've been missing. Leonard has this way about him that makes me feel conflicted and confused. I haven't felt anything like this in... ever? Have I ever felt this way? It's strange, a flutter when he's there and a heavy stone in my belly when he isn't.

I've noticed things about Leonard that I don't want to, because it makes me feel things. Like how he likes to cook, for example. I went to do the laundry in the basement of our apartment building with Esperanza, only to come back to him trying to follow one of the recipes in a cookbook I keep for days I feel slightly adventurous. Or how he's got these little lines near his eyes that crinkle if he laughs or smiles hard enough. Or how good he is with Esperanza. I tell myself that I'm only like this because he's the only man in my life and I'm missing Adonis, and that if I didn't miss him as much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn't feel this way.

But the thing is that I don't miss Adonis when Leonard is around, and the ache that he's left in my heart now feels like a small little insect bite that only itches when I think about it too much.

Whatever it is that has grown between Leonard and myself makes itself known the day we give the divorce papers to Cyrus and Adonis. It's in the same building, same office. It's a little cool, but not too bad. Still, it's cool enough that I don't feel comfortable taking Essie out, so Simone comes over to stay with her.

She eyes Leonard and me with that same cryptic look she used to give me and Adonis ages ago. I can feel a heat creeping up my neck as I button my jacket, Leonard fixing his tie in the mirror next to the door. What do we look like? Like a couple out for lunch on the town? What?

I feel like defending myself and telling her that it isn't what it looks like, but what is it? And what does it not look like?

I straighten out my dress, picking at the lint that's collected on it. Leonard is quiet, humming along to the radio as we drive through the thick fog towards the office. There's a bit of a press build up, reporters that ask for commentary until we manage to drive through the crowd and into the city. There's a group of reporters there, at the office. Leonard helps me through the crowd with his hand on the small of my back.

To be honest, it's something he does a lot. I don't think about how much he does it until we're pushing through people and he wraps an arm around my waist, grumbling about how people have no manners. He'll do it when I'm trying to reach for something in my cabinets and can't quite reach. It's that he's tall and has long arms and can reach over me, which he'll do on occasion to tease me. Or if we're in a crowded elevator. Or walking, period. Or if we're in a situation that involves Adonis, too.

He touches me a lot and I've just noticed now. We walk into the building and his touch is gone as quick and easy as it came. We take the elevator, silent. I feel... strange. My face is burning and I can't look at Leonard. Do I feel guilty? For what? I'm not married anymore, and Leonard is my friend or something, and Adonis is with someone new, someone who maybe he really does love.

"Are you okay, Tallulah?" Leonard asks, glancing over at me. "It's fine. He isn't going to do anything to you."

"I'm not afraid of him," is my reply, a little harsh. "I'm not afraid of anyone."

"Easy, tiger." I let out a quiet huff, digging my nails into my hands. "Relax, Tallulah. Look at me." Doing that would only make me feel even more conflicted, but I do that regardless, eyes meeting his. "You're going to be fine."

"Mmhm."

"You're a good woman. You're better than this."

"Okay."

"Say it with me." My eyes widen as I shake my head, suddenly bashful. "It'll help."

"I - I'm a good woman."

"Like you mean it." His smile is full, lips full, eyes happy. I can't breathe.

"I'm a good woman?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I'm a good woman," I say, a little forceful. "I'm a damn good woman." Leonard looks like he's about to say something to me, but whatever he was going to say dies out when the elevator doors open on Cyrus' floor. He straightens himself out, standing up straight and almost... proud. Of who? Me or himself?

I walk behind him, heels clicking against the floorboards dully. Adonis stands up when we walk in, giving me a smile that could have, maybe a few weeks ago, melted me down. Now it only makes me feel sick. It's slimy.

The meeting is relatively uneventful. Adonis insists on custody, and both our lawyers explain to him why that has to wait until the trial. His attorney pushes for a plea bargain, we deny it, Adonis gets angry, I get angry, we yell, and then the meeting ends. I'm more upset that I let him get a reaction out of me than anything else. I'm fuming in the elevator, and I'm even more upset once we go outside - cameras and journalists and microphones and all I want is peace and quiet for more than a day.

It takes us a little over ten minutes just to make it to the stop sign a few yards away. I don't know how to feel - am I an advocate for domestic violence, or a social fabric that's threatened to destroy the fabric of the average American family?

"It's a little gloomy today, don't you think?" Leonard asks, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel. "All dark and weird."

"What do you suggest we do about it?" I raise an eyebrow, then dig into my pocketbook. I know I threw a stick of gum in here earlier. "I can't change the weather, and neither can you."

"We could go out for a drive."

"We are out for a drive."

"I meant, you know, out. Out of the city. Tuscaloosa. Mobile. Montgomery? They've got nice shops."

"A road trip?" I unwrap the minty stick of gum to distract myself, staring down at my lap. "What about the baby?"

"I think she's in very capable hands with Simone, don't you?"

"I suppose," I murmur, chewing on the gum stiffly. It's not that I don't want to go. I just feel a little nervous because I know I don't look my best, and maybe my make up isn't enough for Montgomery, of all places. The last time I went to Montgomery I was eighteen. Eighteen. Thinking about it makes me dizzy, so I don't.

On the ride down, it begins to rain, but not very much and definitely not enough to worry me too much. We get there in time for dinner, just about. Leonard and I go to this little restaurant where there's a jukebox that still works and comfortable booths. No one stares at me and no one makes me feel like I'm some sort of spectacle. We do get a couple of looks because we're a little damp, but not too many.

He gets soup, chicken noodle, and occasionally picks at my fries, which I don't mind since they gave me a lot and I'm not sure I can finish them all.

I get a hamburger. A real hamburger. I make a small noise when I bite into it, leaning back into the booth. My eyes slip closed as I set the burger down, smiling softly. Leonard laughs and I open my eyes, covering my mouth with a cloth napkin.

"Sorry," I apologize, licking my lips discreetly. "It's just really good."

"I'm not laughing at you." He leans closer. "Happiness is a good look for you."

"You think?"

"Makes your eyes pop."

The conversation revolves around light, ambivalent things, and it actually makes me feel like maybe this thing I keep thinking is in my head maybe isn't, and maybe he kind of feels... something. But what is something? And is this something safe? Am I safe?

After dinner - we linger at the diner until we can't have anymore coffee and cheesecake, and pay for our check - actually, Leonard pays and stubbornly refuses to let me help - we shop, but not for very long because most shops are closing and the only places that are open this late are clubs. I don't dance anymore, and Leonard is looking a little tired, so I suggest going home.

And, had it not been for the car breaking down and creaking and grumbling all the way down the interstate, we would have gone home. And maybe he would have walked me to my door, or maybe he would have just let me go up in the elevator alone, or - whatever. That doesn't happen. A bad storm caught us, as if to make matters worse, so Leonard pulls off at the nearest exit and we search futilely for a motel, or a hotel, or something. We find a bed and breakfast run by an elderly couple who can barely see and are really quite kind. We're soaking wet, so they try to be brief, laughing a little. I feel bad for getting water on their nice carpets, but they don't mention anything so neither do I.

It's quaint inside, and warm, and smells like pie, so I can't complain. The little couple have matching little outfits and glasses and are really too cute. I smile at them shyly, a little upset that I'm getting everything wet. Our clothes drip on the floor, a steady quiet rhythm. They don't seem to mind.

"Are you honeymooners?" they ask, smiling gently at us. "We're running a special, you see."

I'm about to tell them we're not, but Leonard laughs and asks them how they knew. According to him, we eloped. Is he poking fun at Adonis and I? My lips quirk up in a weird little smile as I look at him, trying not to laugh. We've lost our suitcases at the airport, and need a place to stay for the evening before taking our next flight to New York.

"Love's in the air," the wife answers, and my cheeks flush. We're not the only people here, but we're the only people checking in so late. They tell us they'll bring us some dry clothes in a few moments, and I murmur a quiet thanks. Love is in the air? It isn't. I don't love him. I don't love anyone anymore, I don't, but Leonard signs that little guest book and pays them. They give us our keys and lead us to our rooms - the whole ordeal lasts less than five minutes but it feels like hours. Once we've got the door shut behind us, I laugh, leaning against it as I watch him potter about the room.

"Honeymooners?"

Leonard shrugs casually, undoing his tie and setting it on the radiator. The room is quaint, tiny. The sheets are frilly and have this awful floral pattern, the mirror is in a heart shape, but it'll do for the evening.

"We look the part, apparently. And they're running a special, Tallulah." He's undoing his shoes, back to me. I can count the knots in his spine and it makes me laugh. Leonard eats like a bird. Frequently, but like a bird. I joke about fattening him up sometimes, and he gives me a crinkly laugh whenever I do. He sighs when he sits up, stretching out and yawning. Leonard turns, looking at me with a small smile, and a laugh. "I won't bite you. If you want, I'll sleep on the floor."

"No!" I say suddenly, cheeks pink. "No. I - you paid for the room. You can't pay to sleep on a floor."

"Why are you hugging the door?" He gets up and walks over to the small record player, going through the box of records next to it. He puts a quiet one on, and much to my surprise, it's soul. I move away from the door, feeling my dress stick to my back. I'm not afraid of Leonard. I'm not. He's nice. He's safe. I'm just unsure of myself, and I don't want to do something stupid, or alienate him, or make him dislike me somehow.

I move into the restroom, slipping out of my shoes. I shut the door and sink against it. Leonard won't hurt me. I know that. Why am I so nervous and scared? He's just a man and I'm just a woman and we're just people and we're friends, anyway. I take off my stockings and hang them up, undo the garter and hang that up in the window too. I take off my dress and sigh, putting it on the towel rack. It's a nice purple, or it was before it got all wet and gross.

I look at myself in the mirror, squinting. My hair, already bouncing back, is half dry, so I towel it, rubbing it with the pink towel that has hearts embroidered into the hem. I brush my teeth and floss. I pull at my cheeks and the bags under my eyes. My slip is kind of dry, and I'm half tempted to wear it to bed because I don't want to wear some weird frumpy nightgown instead. And it'll dry, anyway. It's a little damp, but not uncomfortably so.

"Tallulah?" Leonard is knocking on the door, quiet. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I call out, pulling away from the mirror. "I'll be out in a moment. Sorry."

When I walk out, Leonard is wearing this gaudy flannel pair of pajamas. He looks sheepish and I laugh. He turns around and makes a show of it, laughing with me.

"Marjorie said that's all she had that would fit," Leonard explains, picking some loose threads from the seam on his outer thigh. I notice everything about him. I'm sick.

"Marjorie?"

"The lady from the front desk. I think, you know, I could make it work. Maybe."

"Right. Excuse me." I slip past him and let him into the bathroom, gnawing on my inner cheek. I sit on the bed for a second, then wander towards the little window. I can make out a tree, and maybe a few cars parked in the yard. A flash of lightning makes me jump, letting out a scared squeal.

"Tallulah?!" Leonard pokes his head out of the bathroom, concern etched on his features.

"Sorry," I apologize. He's got toothpaste on his lip and on cheek, hair touseled dry by a towel. He needs a comb. He looks ridiculous, but I can't stop laughing. He squints, but laughs, and goes back into the bathroom. I eye the folded pajamas on the counter, making a face. I'm better off in my slip, anyway. It's practically dry, anyway.

I call Simone to let her know that we're going to be there tomorrow morning, and she clicks her tongue at me knowningly.

"I knew it." She laughs, quiet and subdued. I frown, staring out the window with a confused pout.

"Knew what?" I ask, frowning at her tone. "What?"

"You're fucking him." She sounds smug and like she knows it all, and it makes my eyes widen, face burning hotly.

"Simone," I hiss, eyes wide. "Are you talking like that around the baby?"

"Essie has been down for the count since five." She laughs. "You are, aren't you? I could tell, you know - "

"No," I mumble, cheeks rosy. "Stop."

"What? It's nothing to be ashamed of. He's handsome, and young, and has a good job and - "

"Bye."

"Use a condom!" she yells as I hang up. I feel like my whole body is on fire - Leonard and I aren't fucking, much less anything else. He isn't my lover and the implication that he is makes me feel off. He's my friend, we're friends and I -

"Tallulah?" I turn around to look at him, still shaken by that conversation. He frowns, hands at his sides. The song playing ends, there's a light lull, and then a new one begins. Leonard holds out a hand, request unspoken. I place my left hand in his, glancing at our hands together before placing my right on his shoulder. He draws me a little closer, enough for us to be in each other's space but not close enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

I rest my head against his shoulder, hesitant until I feel his solid warmth against my cheek. I close my eyes and just try not to worry about what Simone said, or the divorce, or the baby. We're just here, alone, and it feels kind of nice. I don't consider the implications, and simply stay with him, following his footsteps. His hand finds the small of my back, and my now free hand finds his hair. It's a bit softer than I thought, and it makes me smile.

"Are you well?"

"Yeah," I cough, shrugging a little. "I called Simone just to let her know we wouldn't be home until tomorrow, and she told me that the baby's a little colicky, that's all." I smile easily, unsure. What next? What do I say? Do I tell him what Simone really said? What'll he say? Will he laugh? Say it's impossible? Say that we'll never...? Because - well, he should, we should maintain a professional relationship but I can't say I haven't thought about kissing him once or twice.

Maybe three times. Maybe.

"You sure?" Leonard's voice seems mellower here, deeper. I can feel the vibrations against my cheek. There's a slight pressure against my temple, and it confuses me until I realize that it's his face.

"Yes."

"You dance like Katherine," he comments, laughing. I can't help but laugh because I do kind of dance like her, but she taught me and I suppose some things just don't change. "Maybe a little bit better. Don't tell her I told you."

"You knew her in law school, right?"

I know more than I should. Katie insists that Leonard had some kind of feelings for her in school, but he's never talked about it so I don't know how true that really is. They spent some time together (quite a lot) before she meant Trent, and that was it.

"Something like that." He hums, singing along to the song playing. It isn't loud, but it feels loud because our voices are softer than it, and we're probably the only people awake at this late hour. "We used to go dancing a lot." It's not like I'm jealous of Katie and Leonard together because I'm not, I was in school then and we didn't even know about each other and it's inconsequential, but. But. When my hand slips down, he grasps it. Our fingers lace together. What does it mean? What does it all mean? I can't ask. "I'm proud of you, though."

"Proud?"

"I'm sure it took a lot to say good bye to your ex husband like that. It must hurt," he explains. "I've been in love before. I know how it feels, loving someone who loves someone else."

"And?"

"And?" He looks down at me, a small smile on his lips. Full. Raspberry shade, somewhere between red and pink. I wonder what he would do if I just leaned up and -

"How did you get over it?" Leonard shrugs, and I rest my head against his chest again. Our hands are still settled between our bodies. The whole thing is innocent and intimate at the same time, and I'm not sure how to take it. I like it, though. That much is true.

"I... I didn't do anything special." The song ends and a loud, jazzy song begins to play. Is it Ella? Lou? I don't know, but I do know that I like being... held. It's warm. Comforting. He's warm. "It just stops hurting after a while and the more I thought about other things, the less it hurt. And some days, when I think about it, it doesn't hurt at all. Not the way it used to, anyway."

I can feel him smiling, even if I don't see it. He's warm and his smile is warm and I can always feel it. Even when we're not close. Like, some nights when we're eating dinner and going over details to the case, and he's playing with the baby, I can just tell he's smiling. I don't know how. I can just feel it.

"I feel that way, too," I say after a light pause. "I - sometimes I just don't know," I explain. My eyes glance up at him, and see him again in the same hazy light in which I've been seeing him for the last few weeks. He's got these eyes, I don't know - these big eyes that just feel like they could slice right through a person if they really wanted to. "Sometimes I don't think I could ever be - I don't - I don't know. Some days I don't know if I could ever get better and I ever doubt that - that things will ever be better than they are right now. It's scary, Leonard. It's just... it's the worst feeling in the whole wide world."

"You deserve to be happy." The statement itself is innocent and simple. I know in the back of my mind that I do deserve happiness, after all Adonis did to me. The cheating, the miscarriage, the abuse... Grace. I deserve someone to make me happy, and to make happy in turn, but to hear him say that reintroduces the idea and it's like something new and novel, something I haven't ever considered until right this very second. "You do. You're young, still, and kind, and you care a lot about everyone, even if they don't care about you. And you're pretty, you know."

It's the first time he's ever called me pretty or ever alluded to noticing things about me at all. I press my face against his shoulder again. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed, but I am still, reluctantly, bashful and shy and a little hesitant to accept his compliment given my current state. I laugh, cheaply, following his steps.

"What?"

"Nothing," I murmur softly. "No one calls me pretty anymore, that's all."

I still haven't lost much weight from the pregnancy, and I don't have any makeup left on my face, not to mention the fact that Leonard's seen me in all sorts of states - half asleep, half awake, restless, exhausted, wired, hair up, hair down, with Essie's spit up on my face or clothes or occasionally both. I don't think any of those fit the pretty catagory. Maybe Leonard is a man of eclectic tastes.

"Oh, c'mon," he teases, spinning me a little. I close my eyes and smile despite myself. Adonis never called me pretty, except for the first time we met. A pretty simle. I had a pretty smile. (Had. I rarely smile anymore, and to be doing it so frequently throws me for a loop.) Sometimes cute, sometimes beautiful but never pretty, and it occurs to me then that Leonard may be the first man who ever has. "Don't tell me you don't think - I mean. Tallualah, really?" I find myself looking up at him once our bodies meet again. "C'mon."

"Really." I give him a sort of half smile, unsure of myself. Could he be like Adonis? Could every man be like him? I don't know anymore, and I'm afraid that every man is, in one way or another. He's ruined me for anyone else, as much as I hate to admit it.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you are."

The more I think about Adonis, and how much I miss having someone there, the more I think about how much I've missed the warmth and companionship - that was barely ever there to begin with but the moments that they were there I cherished more than anyone could ever begin to imagine - my bottom lip quivers, and I feel my face burn. I hate crying, much less in front of people. Essie sees me cry a lot but she's little, yet, and doesn't know what it means.

I can feel my body stiffening with the need to keep myself still and swallow the angry burning shame that threatens to leak from my eyes, hands trembling. I can't cry and I won't cry and he can't see me cry because I'm not weak. I'm strong, I'm fire, I'm a force to be reckoned with and I'm not that stupid little girl that once loved a stupid man. I'm not. And yet. Yet. My chest heaves, breaths leaving me in quiet little pants that threaten to undermine everything I've worked so hard for over the course of the last few minutes.

"Tallulah?"

"Hm." That's all I can muster. I gulp, wishing that I could just not do this right now. I wish I could be stronger, that I could be like Katie and not shed a damn tear over him. He's ruined me, I can't even accept a compliment without thinking about how he never said those things to me but probably croons them in Grace's ear while they're in my damn bed -

I start crying properly, burying my face deep in Leonard's chest. Crying isn't even the right word, and neither is weeping, nor wailing. Sobbing. I'm sobbing like a child over split milk, huffing and trying not to slobber and get his shirt dirty or wet.

"Oh," he sighs. I feel his hand cradling the back of my head, fingers winding around curls. He shushes me, the hand on my back rubbing tiny circles. "Why are you crying? I'm sorry."

"No one calls me pretty," I repeat, choked up again. He never called me pretty, he never wanted me, he wanted a trophy wife and I wanted someone who loved me and he never saw me, he just saw a spineless girl who would bend and move to his every whim and - "You're the only - and I - he never - "

"He didn't deserve you." Leonard's voice seems genunine enough, I suppose. His tone is quiet and soft and as calm as always, and that in and of itself makes it worse. (Adonis never let me cry. About anything. He always said it made me look ugly, so I always tried to do it when he wasn't around if I had to.) "Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah." I can feel Leonard folding me into his chest. For a moment I can delude myself that I'm safe and we're normal and a couple or something, something more than what we are now. He cups my cheeks, tilting my face up towards him. "Sorry," I mumble when his thumbs brush my cheeks, damp and stiff.

"For what?" He smiles a little. Those couple of seconds feel longer than they actually are. I feel like I'm seeing Leonard for the first time. His eyes aren't green or brown, more brown than green but still deep and glassy and he's got this pure soul in him, I know he does, I can feel it and he's here and holding me and I don't know what it means.

I could kiss him. If I lean up a little, I could. My face tips up towards his, stretching ever so lightly. I don't think I'm actually going to do it until I do it. Leonard's lips are soft and yielding to mine and for a moment, just one solitary moment, I can almost believe I'm going to be just fine.