“If you keep lying to me, I can’t properly protect you. And if I can’t protect you, I won’t keep you around.” “I’m not— Which lie?” He snorts softly. “You tell that many?” “I…” I fidget with the sleeve of my hoodie. “I lie a lot.” “You shouldn’t. Telling the truth can be therapeutic.” I narrow my eyes. “You know what else can be therapeutic?” “Punching me in the nuts?” That’s exactly what I was going to say. “How did you know I—” “You’re pretty fucking predictable.” He’s leaving again, and I hate him. So much. Especially when I have no choice but to yell after him, “Fine.” He doesn’t stop.
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