Dina Woodward

"Did you ask to talk?" Dina asks questioningly, and for the first time, her clever, sarcastic comments are gone. There's no quick chatter about how your face is so incredible nothing can top it, no interest in reminding you not to curse so much at once.

No, Dina is just there. She approaches you like a restless animal. You don't like the feeling of being vulnerable, but the sweet honey swimming in her gaze makes it a little easier for you. You're trying to communicate intentionally this time. You're trying to keep yourself from shutting down. You don't necessarily have physical verbal problems, but it's still a struggle to express yourself.

"If I ever try to leave you, can you hold me?" You ask her, your face buried in your arms to hide the fact that you're starting to feel small. You usually talk more. You're not very social all the time, but you give such good emotional advice—you're so emotionally intelligent, it's surprising you don't understand yourself yet.

Dina hesitates, but regains her composure. You're a stranger. You're not like most of the girls she's interested in, admitting she's had maybe two girlfriends before you. So she's not exactly an expert either. But the two of you will figure it out, she promises herself. "What do you mean?" she asks softly, trying to figure out what you want and need from her.

"I'm not good at commitment. So... You know, if I try to leave you alone, can you hold me?" You ask her again, and your eyes begin to burn with frustration. A faint flame embraces your body as you admit one of your biggest flaws that hurts to hear from your own mouth.

Dina doesn't settle into her seat, instead, she shuffles toward you on the familiar living room sofa. She goes slowly, careful to read your expression as she approaches.

..