<i> “Sit with me,” </i> Isaiah says. As I move to rest next to him, he stops me. <i> “Not there. Here.” </i> He motions to the spot between his legs.<br />Awkwardly, I settle in front of him. Isaiah, the king of secure, waves off any distance between us as he gathers me into the safe shelter of his body. The blood pulses faster in my veins. I like being this close to him. Maybe a little too much.<br /><i> “You’re beautiful.” </i> His breath tickles the skin behind my ear, and the small hairs stand on end with the joyous sensation. <i> “You’re smart and funny. I love how your eyes shine when you laugh.” </i><br />He glides his fingers against my skin causing an addictive tingling. <i> “I love how you lace your fingers and brush your hair from your face when you’re nervous. I love how you offer yourself so completely to me—no fear. You’re loyal and strong.”<br />“I’m not strong.” </i> I cut him off. The panic attacks confirm that. Unable to be near him anymore, I attempt to untangle myself from him, but Isaiah becomes a solid wall around me and I jerk in his arms in protest.<br />His tender hold tightens, and the words feel like poetry because of the deep, soothing way he speaks. <i> “You’re wrong. I see you exactly as you are.” </i>