“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
