“Why do you think you’re unattractive?”
Why this topic again? “Because I am.”
“You are not.”
I look up at him. “That’s enough.”
For Seneca, it’s never enough. “I love your smile. I love that most people don’t get to see it, but I get to see it all the time. You’re gorgeous and funny. I love being around you because I feel like I can be myself. I
can joke with you, talk with you, and be who I really want to be. Sometimes, you’re so in your shell that you refuse to peek your head out.” “I would like to end this conversation here,” I say, more than slightly embarrassed.
Of course he’s continuing. “I love your eyes—”
“No.” I pull my shoe off and shove my foot between his legs, which instantly shuts him up.
“Now I’m scared. Are you going to kick or be nice? You’re like a mule.”