“Tell me your thoughts? Do you want to end this?” “What? No, Mr. Dymon. I love you. So much. I’m just upset that he did that to me. To us. To my family. Now, they are going to think that you’re a monster, and you’re not.” “In my own defense, I don’t care what they think of me.” “But I do.” “Okay. The ball is in your court like it’s always been. What do you want to do?” “I’m your girlfriend, Mr. Dymon. That’s not changing. Someone is going to have to pry your cold, dead body from my hands.” “Hopefully when I’m a hundred years old.” “Yes. And I’m going to die, like, twenty-four hours later from
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