“The thing you forget, titch, I know you. I spent thirteen fucking years learning what you liked, what got to you. You say you don’t like it, but you fucking do. You like me, you just don’t like that I hurt you. You don’t like what I do for a living, but the thing is…logic rarely wins.” She keeps walking toward the door. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t know what she likes any more. “Jemma,” I say, “wait.” She stops but doesn’t turn around. And at this moment, I realize how fucked I am. I’m still in love with her. I’m still in fucking love with her.
