“You hurt me, Dean,” I tell him quietly. “You really hurt me.” “I know,” he says. “And . . .” He swallows, as if he’s choking on something. “And I’m sorry,” he says in a strangled tone. I almost want to laugh. It sounds like he’s never apologized in his life. He looks ridiculously relieved, as if he thought saying those words might kill him. Unfortunately for him, no amount of apologies is going to wipe his insults out of my brain. “I don’t care,” I say coldly. “Why not?” he demands. “Because you told me you loved me, and then you said I meant nothing to you. So your words are meaningless.”
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