I believe his words for once because something in his deliverance says honesty. I don’t know why I know, but I do.

There it is, though, between us—the confession I needed to hear that night when I held a gun to my head, whether it’s true or not. That he cared, even a tiny minuscule amount. I wasn't nothing to him.

Too little too late.

‘Believe me? … What do you mean believe me? What are you talking about?’ I pick apart his dialogue and assess it, but that one ...