“The truth?” I muttered. It’s what I asked for, so what was the problem? Was it because I didn’t want to hear the truth, or was it because I wasn’t ready to forgive him?
“You can tell me the full truth after I’m done eating,” I told him as the food arrived. Christian looked in horror as I accepted the full bag of food and ripped it open. “Are you not going to say it?” I teased him.
It was a habit of his to tell me not to get anything dirty, whether it was his car, the kitchen, the room that used to be ours, or the big stain I left on the couch.
“You can do whatever you want. I just want to talk to you.” Christian spoke through the pain. He was willing to go as far as letting me dirt the car—just so he could talk to me. I shrugged my shoulders and ate my food while Christian stared at me. He never stopped staring.
I missed the words, Serena, look at me. He used to say it at the most random times and as creepy as it might sound, would even watch me in my sleep.
