“So then.” He wipes his hands. “Tell me—what’s it like being in love with someone who hurts you all the time?” I’m completely thrown for a moment. I blink a lot of times. I let out a bewildered laugh. “Horrible.” He nods, coolly. “Thought about as much.” “You’d hurt him too though,” he tells me. I frown at him. “How do you know?” “Face like yours?” He nods at it. “Fuck, it’s hurting me now. I’m just sitting here, across from you, without a history, not in love with you, and you look sad that I said that, and I want to slit my wrists.” He sniffs a laugh and looks a bit sad himself.
