But this time he said I love you. The thought jams into my head like it’s not my own. I can hardly believe he actually said that those eight letters. I’d like to tell myself I misheard, that it was my imagination, but his haunted eyes seared through mine, selling me every word with an urgency I’ve been waiting for since the first day we’ve met. He told me he loved me, goddammit. Fuck him, for knowing exactly what to say at the right moment. Fuck him, for messing with my head again. Fuck him, for finally doing it in the right way. And fuck me for actually wanting to believe him.
