“
Don’t underestimate your own value, dummy,” he says. I stiffen. I hate that word. Absolutely hate it. He stiffens when I do. “What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?” “Don’t ever call me a dummy, Logan,” I say, my teeth grinding together so hard they hurt. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he rushes to say. He takes my face in his hands, holding it tightly as he looks into my eyes. “I didn’t mean it.” He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “It’s a term of endearment in our family. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Really, I didn’t. I don’t think you’re stupid. You have a learning disability, but you’re not stupid. I know that.” I wish I knew it. He sounds so sure about it. “It’s all right,” I say, but I’m already pushing back from him. “Don’t pull away from me,” he warns. That makes me laugh. “I’m not the one who’s always pulling away, Logan,” I remind him. I push him back again, but he’s not having any of it. Suddenly, his hands clutch my bottom, and he hoists me up onto the bathroom countertop. “Forgive me,” he says. I nod, and he kisses the corners of my eyes where tears have formed. That word hurts me. It always has. And it was the final straw that made me leave my parents’ house. That word and others like it—I’ve heard them for too long.
”
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