“I don't like you, Park," she said, sounding for a second like she actually meant it. "I..." - her voice nearly disappeared - "think I live for you."
He closed his eyes and pressed his head back into his pillow.
"I don't think I even breathe when we're not together," she whispered. "Which means, when I see you on Monday morning, it's been like sixty hours since I've taken a breath. That's probably why I'm so crabby, and why I snap at you. All I do when we're apart is think about you, and all I do when we're together is panic. Because every second feels so important. And because I'm so out of control, I can't help myself. I'm not even mine anymore, I'm yours, and what if you decide that you don't want me? How could you want me like I want you?"
He was quiet. He wanted everything she'd just said to be the last thing he heard. He wanted to fall asleep with 'I want you' in his ears.
"What kind of power would you want?" he asked , changing the subject. He turned his face toward her, laying her cheek against the top of the seat. Still smiling.
"I'd want to fly," Eleanor said, looking away from him. "I know it's not very useful, but... it's flying."
"Yes," he said.
Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.
Or maybe, he thought now, he just didn't recognize all those other girls. The way computer drive will spit out a disk if it doesn't recognize the formatting.
When he touched Eleanor's hand, he recognized her. He knew.
It was nicest thing she could imagine. It made her want to have his babies and give him both of her kidneys.
"Where are you now?"
"Like, in the house?"
"Yeah, where."
"Why?" she asked, with something just gentler than disdain.
"Because I'm thinking about you," he said, exasperated.
"So?"
"Because I want to feel like I'm with you," he said.