“What do you hope to accomplish by coming here and showing me this?” I whisper. “What’s the point?” He thinks. Or stays quiet, anyway, staring at the floor, pressing the tip of his tongue against the swell of his bottom lip. After a while, he says, “People like to believe all kinds of shit about me, Carina. I don’t give a fuck most of the time. But you believing that about me? I couldn’t handle you believing that.”
