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He backed away from her, his eyes sadder than she had ever seen them. "I'm sorry, Den," he whispered. "Why...why can't I..."

"You wouldn't understand," she said softly. "I don't think I want to stay here anymore. Can you take me home?"

"Of course," he answered, his voice so low she could hardly hear it, and although he avoided her eyes she could see the pain in his expression. As they pushed their way through the crowd, Deni did her best to ignore the people on every side of them that called out to Taylor. To her surprise, he ignored them too. He just held tight to her hand and led her away from the crowds.

When he pulled up in front of her house, she hesitated. "I'm so dead," she whispered. "My mom is going to fucking kill me. I forgot."

"You can still come to my place," Taylor offered softly. "We have a guest room. It's open to you."

"That would be nice. Thank you." He pulled away from her curb and as he drove, he glanced over at her.

"I'd really like it if you'd tell me why you object so strongly to me saying that I love you."

"I don't think that tonight is a good time," she answered.

"Tomorrow then," he persisted.

"I don't think there will ever be a good time."

"Then how do you expect this to work out between us?"

"I don't, Taylor! You're the one that keeps talking about 'us' as though we're together. I've told you so many times, we're not. I just perfected my life, and now you want me to screw it up again?"

"Your life isn't perfect," he told her quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"Your life isn't perfect, Deni." He reached out and wrapped his hand around hers. "That's what I want to do. I want to help make it a little more perfect."

"It is perfect," she snapped at him. "I am perfect. I know I am. I've always had to be to please my mother."

"That can't be true."

She ignored this and went on, her eyes filling with tears, "I've never been anything but an object to her. She wanted my grades to be perfect, everything to be perfect. And now that I'm not horrible to look at, she wants all of me to perfect. I can't stand the pressure. I can't."

"You don't have to be perfect, Deni," Taylor whispered, his fingers playing across her cheek. "You're as perfect as anyone could ever be."

She stared down at her hands, intertwined, twisting in her lap. "I can't be everything she wants me to be. I can't be the perfect girl she thinks I am."

"Deni, listen to me," Taylor cut in, his voice strong, his eyes boring into hers. "You're right. You can't be perfect. You don't even need to try."

"But she won't love me if I'm not," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face away, pressing her cheek against the cold, foggy window.

"If that's all your mother loves you for," he murmured, "she doesn't know what loving you is."

She looked up at him. "Did you know I could count on one hand the number of people that have told me they love me?"

His heart broke for her, and he pressed his lips against her cheek before whispering, "Deni, if people don't love you, it's because you won't let them."

She stared up into his face, blurred by the wetness in her eyes. "What?"

"You won't let them, because you're scared. The way you're scared of my love for you." He shook his head in awe as everything became clear to him. "If you want to be perfect, you can't be scared."

"I have to be scared," she said to him, and her voice shook as she finally told someone the way she felt. "I have to be scared, because if I weren't I would tell you that I love you."